Infinite Possible Ways (To Love You)
by KeepSaying
Summary: Unrelated One-Shots and drabbles about the father and son relationship between Tony and Peter.
1. Q T π

**A/N** : So, these are mostly going to be little Oneshots and drabbles about the father and son relationship of Tony and Peter. They're completely unconnected and can be read in any order. Hope you enjoy these!

 **Summary** : Tony's daughter Morgan is miserable with her new glasses. Thankfully her dad and her big brother know exactly how to cheer her up.

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The minute Tony stepped through the doors of the elevator a piercing scream hit his unsuspecting eardrums and his hands immediately reached to cover his ears even as his mind matched a meaning to the sound. His hands changed path and instead went to the watch on his wrist, activating a gauntlet that covered his right hand in the blink of an eye.

"Pep?", he called out cautiously, raising his armed arm when he turned the corner to the living space. He could've cried in relief when his wife replied even if the high-pitched screaming continued.

"We're alright." A pause and then more soothingly, "Shh, baby. It's alright. Daddy's here now. You wanna say hi to daddy?"

The nanites retreated into his watch before they could scare his daughter and once the big brown eyes found him, she reached out her arms, calling for him.

"Hey baby", he greeted her with a tender kiss to the forehead. He settled her on his right hip and gently bounced her as she sniveled into his neck, small arms holding on to him tightly. "What's wrong?", he asked her. She simply shook her head and pressed closer into him.

Hadn't Pepper watched them calmly, albeit looking exhausted, he wouldn't have been able to stop the anxiety slowly rising in his chest. Knowing that she wouldn't be this calm if there was an actual threat, he tried to calm his beating heart and sat down next to his wife who brushed his lips in a quick kiss before dropping a long kiss to their daughter's head.

"What's wrong?", he whispered, never stopping his slight swaying while his hand kept drawing soothing circles into Morgan's red hair. Her pigtails were a mess and when she leaned back a little bit to rub her eyes with her hands, Tony could see her tear-rimmed eyes and tear-stained chubby cheeks. Her lip was still trembling but she held on to her mum's hand tightly when she reached out for her.

She squirmed until Tony let go of her and sat her down on his lap, where she curled up into his chest immediately.

"I don't wanna be ugly, daddy", she whispered, pressing Pepper's index and middle finger to her eyes to stop the tears that were still evident in her voice, even though Tony couldn't see her face.

Whatever he had expected, it hadn't been this.

From the very first moment they had laid eyes on her, they had known she was the most beautiful being in the universe and they had made sure to tell her so every single day. She had never questioned it, had never even been shy when all her various aunt and uncles had gushed about her or when Peter kept telling her that he would never find someone as beautiful as her when she asked him about a girlfriend. He couldn't fathom what had triggered this but he swore, if it was something someone had said, than he was going to kill that person dead. No one would ever get away with hurting his daughter.

"You're not ugly, baby", he told her, turning her in his lap so he would be able to see her better but she refused to look up at him. Putting his index finger under her chin, he tipped her head up slightly until her glassy eyes met his. "You're the most beautiful girl in the world, remember?"

"I was the most beautiful girl", she told him, her lower lip stuck out and trembling. "But I'm never gonna be beautiful again." At that she shut her eyes tightly and turned into Tony's palm who caressed her cheek gently. "No pretty girl wears glasses."

Glasses?

Over Morgan's head his eyes met Pepper's who nodded with a small sigh. "We went to the doctor today because Morgan had a headache when I picked her up from daycare and Mrs. Hudson told me she kept squinting at things. She's hyperopic and trying to accommodate her eyes all the time ended up hurting her head. She's gonna have to wear glasses for the foreseeable future."

He felt hot tears dripping down his right hand and moved his left hand to brush a few loose strands of her fringe back from her sweaty forehead.

"You're never ever gonna be ugly", he whispered, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. "You are wonderful." A kiss to her cheek. "You are beautiful." A kiss to her other cheek. "And mommy and daddy love you so so much." One last kiss to her forehead.

A giggle slipped past her lips and she scrunched up her nose when his goatee tickled her skin and although it still sounded wet, it was a lot better than the heart-wrenching cries he came home to. "And Petey?"

"And Petey, too", he smiled widely. "Do you want to know a secret?"

Her little head wobbled up and down, her still glassy eyes wide with excitement at the prospect of hearing one of dad's secrets.

"Daddy used to wear glasses all the time when he went outside", Tony told her in a conspiratorial whisper. It was surreal that this little ray of sunshine didn't know about the Tony Stark façade that he used to put up for everyone outside his comfort zone. While he still did that. While the world still didn't really know the real him – and he'd rather keep it that way – he had stopped trying to hide so much ever since she had come into their lives. He wanted, needed, to be a better man for his daughter.

"They were really cool."

"Really, daddy? Why'd you stop?", she asked, frowning up at him. Her little fingers were still curled around Pepper's and she alternated her questioning looks between her parents. "Did your head get better?"

He grinned, leaning back into the couch and dropping an arm lazily over the backrest, right behind Pepper. "I didn't need the glasses", he told her, "I just wanted to wear them because I liked them." And because his eyes had always been too telling, a too direct link to his heart, in this cruel world.

Tony felt Pepper press a kiss to his shoulder when she leaned into his side, wiggling her fingers in Morgan's grasp, and he felt a wave of gratitude rush through his body at having this wonderful family when he had never believed something like that could ever be in the cards for him.

His little girl didn't seem to be convinced, though, because she simply scrunched up her nose – something he was about eighty percent sure she had picked up from her big brother – and cocked her head to one side, trying to figure it out. "No one wears glasses just because they're cool. No one likes glasses", she told him matter-of-factly.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Pull up some of my greatest glasses-wearing hits up, please."

Thankfully he had baby-proofed the AI's settings before Morgan had ever met the bodiless voice and thus only the socially acceptable pictures started playing on the TV screen in front of them.

While Morgan, who had climbed into Pepper's lap to get a better look, watched the pictures, talking about them a mile a minute, he leaned back in content and watched her. The only evidence of her tears were her clotty lashes and the reddened skin around her eyes where she had rubbed them with her hands. But her eyes were shining with the childish joy and excitement that he had grown used to and every once in a while she let out a giggle at one of the pictures.

"Oh wow, those are ancient!"

All three of them turned around when they heard Peter's voice and immediately Morgan jumped down from her mum's lap and scurried over to the older boy, reaching up at him until he picked her up and she could wrap her arms around his neck.

"Petey!", she exclaimed excitedly into his neck, before turning halfway to the TV screen, "Daddy used to wear glasses!", she told him, her forehead crinkling in a frown, "Did you know that? He says glasses can be cool. Do you like glasses?"

Peter pressed a kiss to her temple and started walking over to the sitting area. "Hello to you, too, Mo", he smiled down at her, "I think Dad's glasses are pretty cool. Why? Don't you like glasses?"

When Morgan didn't answer for a while and returned to watching the pictures again, still with one arm wrapped around his neck, Peter turned his questioning look to Tony and Pepper.

"Morgan is going to have to wear glasses from now on and she's scared they'll make her ugly", the latter replied with a sigh and then a small smile, "I'm happy you'll be here over the weekend. Maybe hanging out with her big brother will take her mind off of it a little."

They stayed like that for a while. Tony pulled Peter into a side hug to the best of his abilities with Morgan still clinging to the kid and started carding his hand through the slightly longer than usual curls, watching in amusement when Peter started doing similar motions on the base of his daughter's neck. The kid told them about college and how much he enjoyed bunking with Ned but how glad he was to be home every other weekend. He usually alternated his home visits between staying with Tony and staying with May, though usually all of them ended up at the tower for sleepovers and family movie nights anyway.

The slide show continued – even Tony was surprised how many different pictures there were of him in glasses – and Morgan relaxed again after a while, trying to get all of her brother's attention by telling him every little detail of her day and about the cool colorful glasses that were so much better than the boring ones she had to wear.

"How about we go out for ice cream!", Tony suddenly interrupted them, an idea forming in his head as he watched their kids cuddled up on the couch. "We could make it a family trip and we're all going to be wearing cool colorful glasses!"

Pepper grinned at him with a little shake of her head but Morgan had perked up at the mention of colorful glasses. "You're gonna wear glasses, too, Daddy?", she asked, staring at him wide-eyed over Peter's shoulder.

"Of course I'm going to wear my cool glasses", he told her, leaning forward to brush a few loose strands behind her ear, "And we can color your glasses, too, if you want."

"Really?", she bounced up and down on Peter's lap in excitement, "Are mommy and Petey gonna wear glasses, too?"

"Of course! Everyone's getting cool glasses!"

And so it was settled.

Tony started getting to work on coloring one pair of glasses Pepper and Morgan had already bought while Peter was charged with dressing both himself and his sister into an outfit cool enough to match their hip glasses (although Peter kept telling him that no cool person would ever call themselves hip).

It didn't take much more than twenty minutes before both kids came rushing into his lab, laughing so hard they were both panting. Morgan jumped up on the couch and didn't even wait for her dad to show her the upgraded glasses before shoving a dark blue t-shirt into his chest.

"We picked something out for you, too", she told him, her cheeks flushed from their sprint and chubby with the big smile she was still wearing.

The billionaire merely raised a questioning eyebrow at Peter who had plopped down next to the girl and matched her grin as he shrugged innocently. They were both clad in dark blue hoodie jackets that were closed in the front but they sat there with their hands on the zipper as if they were about to reveal the next Eiffel tower.

Only when he unfolded the shirt and stared down at the huge capital T at the front of it, did they undo their hoodies, grinning at him so smugly that he needed a minute to put together a logical explanation for Morgan to be wearing a pink 'Q' and Peter to be rocking the dark grey Pi symbol on his chest.

"Really?", he asked them exasperated, though he couldn't help but chuckle at how happy they looked just then.

"Yup", Peter grinned, proudly pointing at Morgan, "It was Mo's idea and we originally wanted to give it to you for Father's Day but we thought it'd be really hip if we could twin. Complete with glasses and all."

Tony shook his head even as he stepped forward to encircle both kids into a big hug.

If someone would've told him some twenty years ago that he would end up having a family with two kids, who made him wear part of a pun on his chest in public, he would've rolled his eyes so hard they would've been permanently stuck.

Now though?

Now he felt his chest swell with pride and love for both kids as they stood in the living room, all wearing their t-shirts and glasses to match. Peter and Morgan had left their hoodie jackets hanging open while he had opted for a dark blue blazer instead.

Tony held Morgan on his right hip, his little girl leaning her head against his shoulder as she smiled brightly, eyes shining behind her green tinted glasses. His other arm he had slung loosely around Peter's waist, while the boy grinned down happily at his sister, eyes covered by a pair of yellow tinted sunglasses from Tony's collection.

"Okay, guys. Smile!", Pepper called out and he pulled both kids just a little bit closer, keeping his once trademark stern look for the camera for a total of ten seconds before he burst out laughing at Morgan and Peter trying to outdo each other pulling faces.

In that moment he wanted to tell everyone who had ever said otherwise, that it was possible to fit your whole world into your hands because as long as he could hold his family in his arms, there was nothing more he could ever wish for.

"So, anyone wants ice cream?", he asked and almost dropped Morgan who tried to leap forward with an excited squeal. "I'll take that as a yes."

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 **A/N** : Find some amazing art for these story (and other Irondad related art) on weartirondad on tumblr!


	2. Suiting Up For Parenthood

**Summary** : Tony tells Rhodey about his kid.

 **A/N** : So this is not a direct interaction between Peter and Tony but it's about them and honestly I love best friend and uncle Rhodey so much. Feedback is appreciated. Enjoy x

Also: **Spoiler Warning for Star Wars: The Force Awakens** , so if you haven't seen that proceed with care (but honestly, it's been three years).

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"Hey Tones, Happy told me to remind you of that thing tonight. You're supposed to attend with Pepper and he says if you don't show up she's gonna have his-", Rhodey stops mid-sentence, gaping at his best friend all splayed out on the huge couch, engrossed in several books all at once.

Actual books. On paper.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, still rooted to the spot, until the man in question finally looks up and raises a questioning eyebrow above his reading glasses. _Reading glasses?_

Rhodey's sure he misses something. Some big life-altering information that has the world hanging in the balance and that can only be cured with an ancient magic spell that can't be found online. That has to be the only explanation for Tony Stark to actually open a book again for the first time since - what, college?

"You're reading", he offers lamely after another minute of contemplating his racing thoughts and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Tony grins, looking slightly concerned for his friend even as he quips, "Wow, Colonel Rhodes, after this whole superhero business you should really think about opening an investigation firm. The potential is there."

That was familiar and it was enough to break Rhodey out of his trance and make him roll his eyes in exasperation. "I haven't seen you hold an actual book in your hands since our MIT days", he tells him while making his way over to the couch and plopping down on the part that Tony clears for him, "And even then I've had to listen to you complain about- wait", he interrupts himself again when his eyes skim over the titles of the books right next to him, "Are those _parenting_ books?"

And is Tony looking sheepish? That man doesn't do sheepish. Hell, he barely ever does insecure and he is never ever so open about it.

"Maybe", the ten year old that seems to have taken over his best friends body mutters to himself, shuffling with the books awkwardly and pulling at his long sleeves before looking back up to meet Rhodey's gaze who simply cocks an eyebrow and waits for him to crack.

He might act weird every once in a while but this guy is still the one Rhodey knows like the back of his hand and it looks like there's something on his mind that he needs to get out but doesn't know how to phrase.

"Pepper and I might have talked about it?", it sounds more like a question and Rhodey tries his best to keep himself from interrupting because he knows it takes Tony a while to spit out whatever is bothering him.

"Uh, well", he rubs the back of his neck now with his right hand while clenching his left hand, a nervous habit he's had ever since Rhodey has known him, "I might've done the talking and she might've done the arguing but, well, the topic has been touched, I guess. And it got me thinking...", he trails off, looking over the mountain of books surrounding both of them with a sigh.

"You're wondering if you could be a good dad", Rhodey finishes softly when Tony doesn't seem to be able to find the words, "So you're doing what you always do, you try to become a master of a new field overnight but you don't want to prove Pepper right so instead of just asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. to do the research for you, you try it the old- fashioned way."

"Is it that obvious?", Tony asks, slumping in on himself so fast and so completely that Rhodey almost pulls his shoulder reaching out for his friend.

"Only because I've known you for most of your life, Tones", he replies with a shrug and a smile, "I know you better than anyone. And I know you'd be a great dad."

Tony seems to perk up at that instantly and starts rambling, "You think? Even with all the daddy issues and, you know, all the other issues? There are so many things to consider, so many ways to fuck up as a parent and I, I really just don't want to disappoint anyone... especially not someone who's so small and impressionable and smart and who looks up to me. I mean, he thinks I hang the moon in the sky every single night and, I'm me, how can I even get close to measuring up to the trust he has in me."

Rhodey tries to keep up, he really does, but somewhere he seems to have lost his friend's train of thoughts and while that isn't a new feeling per se, it feels like he's either missing something monumental right now or Tony messes up his tenses (Which he never does. He always knows what he's talking about even when no one else does.)

But Tony is still talking and usually interrupting him in the middle of one of his rants means he won't start again, so Rhodey starts looking for clues in the books around him and stops.

"Tony", he interrupts now gently but firmly, picking up the book he has been reading before Rhodey entered, "Why does this center around teenagers dealing with loss and anxiety attacks?", he wants to know slightly concerned, "You know the whole baby planning really shouldn't start with figuring out how you'll deal with them once they're messed up. You're supposed to prevent them from getting messed up too much in the first place."

"I know, Rhodey, I know that", he gives back suddenly sounding exhausted, "But I mean what if, purely hypothetically speaking of course, I didn't get the chance to do that and that kid is already messed up... then I should know how to deal with them, right? There has to be a way to help them. There has to be a way to fix this."

"Why would you not be-", Rhodey starts before understanding dawns on him, "This is not about you and Pepper having a kid, is it? This is about some other kid, a teenager. Oh god, Tony, do you have a child?"

"What? No!", at least that feels shocked and honest enough that Rhodey believes him but it doesn't explain anything, really.

"No", Tony says, clenching and unclenching his left hand again and absentmindedly rubbing his right hand over his knee, "I've - no. I don't have a kid. But uh - I might have a kid."

"You've lost me", Rhodey tells him deadpanned.

"Figures", Tony sighs, "Do you remember Spiderman? From Germany?"

"Spiderman is a kid?!"

"Yes, but-", he puts up a hand as if he knows exactly what Rhodey has to say about that, "Can we please not do the yelling right now? I'll explain it to you, everything, including the fact that he was running around in his PJs before I found him and that he wouldn't stop going out even if I told him to. Especially if I told him not to."

"You see, I might've started mentoring him", he finally says and it feels like this is huge for him, like it's a burden falling from his shoulders and he continues with a little smile on his lips, "It was about Spiderman at first, about keeping him safe and training him but Peter- Peter's so smart and he's such a good kid. He's nerdy and geeky and he laughs too loud when we're watching a movie and he cries every time Kylo Ren kills Han Solo and he's so- pure."

"I never meant for this to happen", he adds after a moment of stunned silence, "I never meant for him to become so attached to me and I never wanted to become so attached to him because-", he looks up then, unhappy and conflicted and scared, "You know me, I break everything I touch and I can't- I _can't_ break him, too. I need to protect him from myself and I can't leave him, that kid had enough people leave him already so I have to try to be better for him, right? I mean that's the only way to go?"

Rhodey stares for a little while longer, unable to comprehend everything he's learned in the last few seconds. He's gotten used to a lot of Tony's antics over the years, so much so that he barely even blinks when something new comes up, but this- This is new and raw and he can't really put his finger in it but it feels right, as if all of Tony's life has been the way it has so he would get to this moment and meet this kid.

Talk about character development. This is a freaking love story, just not the traditional romantic kind but the parental kind.

Tony Stark and parental. He'd always known those two words would go good together and he'd always known that Tony would protest any thoughts like that loudly but now this was exactly what he needs to hear.

"I think you're going to be alright", he tells him then because he honest to god believes it, "You obviously care for him and Peter doesn't sound like someone who'd stick around just for the financial benefits so he seems to like you, too."

"Kid doesn't know any better."

"But you said he's smart, right?", Rhodey grins, "I'm sure he's made his mind up and if anyone's gonna get a kid to talk it's gonna be you after having read everything there is to read about teenage angst."

He reaches out to pat Tony on the back, letting his hand linger because his best friend only stares at him in disbelief, frozen in place so that he forgets all about his nervous ticks and leans into him a little shakily.

"You really think that?", he wants to know quietly, voice so soft that Rhodey would've missed it if he hadn't spoken directly into his ear.

"Yes, Tones", he replies with certainty and another pat on his back, "You're gonna be a great dad. Now, when do I get to meet the little rascal?"

Tony laughs, "You know, he would totally protest you calling him that and let me tell you, he's adorable when he gets all flustered. He's actually coming over the day after tomorrow to work on his physics project so if you want to hang around that long you're welcome to join.."

And just like that, Tony doesn't seem to be carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore and Rhodey watches him going on and on about Peter and his school and his decathlon team. Peter's favorite food, Peter's crush. Peter's guy in the chair (He doesn't ask). Peter's this and Peter's that.

He really can't wait to meet the boy who finally made his best friend a dad, and a good one at that.


	3. Come Home To Us

**Summary** : Tony's on a mission and Pepper and Peter try to make do with his t-shirts and each other's company until he finally comes back home.

 **A/N** : Again... not that much actual Irondad. But sleepy cuddles which is always a plus. Feedback is appreciated. Enjoy x

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When Pepper steps into their bedroom she quickly ponders whether to summon one of the Iron suits from downstairs, call for F.R.I.D.A.Y. or press the panic button that her husband insisted she wears, that's how startled she is by the fact that there's someone in their bed.

To be fair, Tony has been out on a mission for a little over a week and no one else is supposed to be in the penthouse, let alone their bedroom.

The intruder shifts, quickly becoming aware of her presence, and as soon as she sees the curls standing up to either side of a sleepy, apologetic face, she relaxes and walks over to where Peter is currently trying to scramble out from under the blanket and out of the bed, all the while apologizing without taking a breath.

"Peter, wait", she stops him when he's about to jump up and run away, holding onto his wrist gently but firmly, "Why aren't you with May? Are you hurt?"

"N-no", he answers, head hanging low as he avoids meeting her eyes. "I'm okay. And don't worry about May, I told her I'm sleeping over tonight."

Pepper frowns, hand moving to Peter's chin, tipping it upwards with her index finger. "But no one was supposed to be here tonight."

She wants to ask him why he wants to stay over in a huge yet empty building but when she looks at him now, really looks at him, she doesn't have to.

He's wearing one of Tony's favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt. It hangs loosely to his chest and almost swallows him up, making him look that much smaller. He has been curled up on Tony's side of the bed, too, with his cell phone right next to him as if he has been waiting for a call to wake him up.

Without saying another word she pulls his head to her chest, rubbing slow circles on his neck, glad when he leans into her and starts to relax in her arms. For a while they just sit like this, both taking comfort in the other's proximity because Pepper understands him. She knows exactly what thoughts are running through his mind and how worried he is and how nothing anyone can say could ever make it feel better.

"I'm scared, too", she whispers into his curls finally and then continues with the words people - _Tony_ \- have been telling her, hoping they would not only reassure the teenager clinging to her but also her own racing thoughts. "It's going to be okay. He's going to come back home. Tony's fine."

It's like a mantra for both of them.

She only pulls away when she feels him slipping back to sleep, startling him with the movement.

Immediately he sits up straighter but before he can apologize again and tell her he's going to his room as he undoubtedly has planned to, she cuts him off with a quick wave of her hand and a small smile.

"I'm going to get changed. You can stay here if you want. I know the sheets smell like him. And I'd feel better if I didn't have to be alone."

Peter nods and, reluctantly at first, climbs back under the sheets but as soon as his head hits Tony's pillow, he curls around it more firmly, closing his eyes and relaxing at the scent.

When Pepper comes back from the bathroom he's already fast asleep and she climbs in on the other side of the bed, pressing a kiss to the side of his head, before drifting off to sleep as well.

It's another three days until Tony comes back home and Peter has been staying at the penthouse, ever since that night Pepper has found him, with Pepper and Happy, feeling just a little bit less worried and alone when he is around people who care about his mentor as much as he does.

The mission has gone on far longer than anyone expected and the billionaire is so glad to finally go home that he hasn't thought to call ahead.

Pepper is supposed to be in Florida for the next week anyway, so he's surprised when he finds her things in the living room standing right next to a backpack that looks suspiciously like it belongs to a certain Spiderkid.

He checks Peter's room on the way to his bedroom, frowning when he finds it empty and the bed made. Quickly he wonders whether he should start worrying or if the kid has just forgotten his backpack here before Tony left.

 _Two weeks without his backpack?_ No, that doesn't seem right.

He's pulling out his phone with one hand, already trying to phrase a text message to shoot the kid, while walking into his and Pepper's room and stops mid motion.

There lay his wife and his kid, both curled around his pillow, both in one of his t-shirts and he can't help but smile at the image. There's a warmth in his chest that makes him forget just how cold his bed has been the last two weeks and how much the mission has sucked.

Without a second thought he slips into the bed behind Peter - it's his side of the bed after all - and quickly brushes the teenager's hair before dropping a kiss to the top of his head and pulling him into his chest, close enough so that his other hand can reach Pepper whose eyes have fluttered open at the shift and brushes his knuckles over her cheek.

"Hey", he whispers, grinning widely when Peter mumbles his name in his sleep and turns away from the pillow he has been hugging and instead goes to bury his head in Tony's chest. He simply runs his hand through his curls and adjusts his position before focusing back on Pepper.

"You okay?"

"Better now", she replies with a soft smile, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek and moving in closer to both men, closing her eyes in content as she feels Tony's fingers slowly starting to massage her scalp.

That's how they fall asleep and Tony can't name a single moment in his life when he has been happier because this is everything he has ever dreamt of.

Just him and his family.


	4. My Superhero Wear

**A/N** : Batman used to be my superhero before I got introduced to Ironman, guess I like the billionaires with fancy tech, ha! Enjoy and let me know what you think! x

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"Hey kid, what are you up to?", Tony asked upon seeing Peter already curled up on the couch in his workshop with his laptop on his lap, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

The teenager barely glanced up when he took the apple juice his mentor handed him and that intrigued Tony because - slowly fading hero worship or not - Peter always greeted him with a smile so big and wonderful it made him wonder how something so innocent had found a place in this cruel world.

He let himself plop down next to the kid and leaned back with his arm stretched out on the back rest behind him, peaking over Peter's shoulder.

"I'm just looking for a costume for our last week of high school. We're doing a motto week", he explained, finally looking at Tony with a frown on his face as he took a sip from his juice before setting the glass back down on the table next to the couch.

"And you want to go as a vampire?", Tony asked in amusement, letting his eyes skim through the Amazon search he had open. "What kind of motto is that? Because if it's horror then you are not allowed to go as a vampire, there are so many better costumes than-"

"No", Peter laughed, "It's not horror and I'm not going as a vampire. I'm just looking for a Batman cloak for the superhero motto."

"You're-", he paused, trying to make sense of what the kid had just said and failing spectacularly. After closing his mouth a few times without actually forming words he settled on a lame, "What?"

"Batman?", the teenager was watching him a little worriedly, "You know, that guy from the DC comics that protects Gotham?"

"I know who Batman is", Tony shot back with an eye roll, "The question is why on earth would you even consider going as Batman? You're literally a superhero yourself. You know tons of real superheroes."

Peter grimaced at that, "Well, I think going to school dressed up as Spiderman would be a little too on the nose, don't you think?", he shrugged, "Besides, I like the Batman comics. You know he's literally just a guy with fancy tech who decides to save the world just because he can. He's not some alien or god with super powers. He's just a man and he's been through a lot and he's still a hero."

"Right. Orphaned, rich, depending on his Butler to get him through the day, fancy tech, good looks, sort of a playboy, kind of a douche", Tony trailed off, eyebrow raised in mock surprise, "I know who you could dress up as!"

"You're not a douche", Peter gave back simply, ignoring the rest of the statement and leaning against his mentor's side, "And you're way way cooler than Batman anyway. Even without Ironman. I mean he needs people to design his tech for him. Also, I don't think he'd be a very good dad", he added as an afterthought, glancing up at Tony through his lashes.

"Oh and I am?", the billionaire wanted to know with a big grin, ruffling the kid's hair as he leaned in closer.

"Well, you're alright", he shrugged even while turning his head to rest comfortably in the scrape of Tony's neck, "But you forgot my snacks. You shouldn't starve your enhanced Superkids. Or so I've heard."

"I did not forget your snacks", he argued and hadn't he been so comfortable he would've toyed with the thought of leaning away just so he could cross his arms to pout. As it was, he really didn't feel like moving and instead continued playing with the kid's hair until it was thoroughly messed up. "I got us a mini fridge for the lab and you'll find it to be filled with everything your heart may desire." He felt more than a little proud of himself when Peter craned his neck to look over to where he was pointing.

"Did you get Doritos?", he nodded in content before relaxing against Tony's chest once more and when he heard the confirmation he grinned up at the man, "Well, then you're the best dad ever."

"That's what I thought", Tony smirked, "So, to get back to the matter at hand, why aren't you going as Ironman? You know I could give you some cool gadgets, all de-weaponized of course."

"I know", Peter practically whined, "But I've been dressing up as Ironman for these things since forever and MJ and Ned ordered me to come up with something new for our last week of school."

The billionaire smiled widely, pleased at both the admission and the fact that Peter wasn't even embarrassed by it anymore. He had to get May to show him the pictures that undoubtedly existed.

"Okay", he said, "Then why not one of the other Avengers?", he wanted to know curiously, "War Machine is kind of cool or, you know, the Hulk. I could make you a Hawkeye bow and send you out as Legolas or how about some fancy patriotic shield and a little helmet with wings so you can be our all favorite Capsicle."

Peter groaned at that, "War machine's too similar to IronMan to count, I really don't wanna run around with a costume that makes me like triple my size and I really really don't want to be Captain America when I can't be Ironman."

"Alright, squirt", he said instead of making a big deal about his Cap dislike. They had had that argument a few times already and it always ended with Peter stubbornly refusing to listen to whatever he was saying in Steve's defense.

Honestly, he knew the kid didn't like the hero because of his fight with him, Tony, and as much as he tried to make him see that it wasn't solely the other man's fault, he couldn't help but be happy about his stubbornness on the topic. Not for the first time he wondered if that was what it felt like to be a parent and to have someone look up at you with so much trust, as if you could do no wrong. It was nice. It made him feel loved and it made him want to be that person that Peter saw in him.

"So we're going to be making you a Batman costume then", he declared, sitting up and leaning forward, pulling up a Starkpad and starting to type away, creating a new file on the matter.

"I- uh, you really don't have to do that", Peter squeaked even as he leaned against Tony's shoulder to get a better look at the hologram that popped up in front of them, "Wow. What are you planning?"

"Well, a Batmobile for starters", Tony laughed at his kid's stare and continued working on a prototype for the car. He might've toyed around with the idea before Peter had ever brought it up.

"And you're gonna go over the outfit and if you want a cape that's fine but you're not going to be fighting crime with a cape. You'll need an armor and the mask of course."

"This is going to be so cool!", the teenager exclaimed, jumping up and bolting for his workplace with a cheer, "Do you think we could add something like interrogation made - only with a really deep Batvoice this time? Or- or, I could try to make the armor a little bit like my spider suit. Obviously not in red but what if-"

Tony let the kid ramble, only giving his input every once in a while when his imagination went a little too far or when he had an idea himself that he knew Peter would love. Otherwise he kept designing the car, finding that he had rarely ever designed his own cars and that it turned out to be a lot of fun. Maybe he could make Peter his own car as a graduation present. Or they could build one together.

But right now he was perfectly content designing something incredibly over the top just so his kid could have a blast during his last week of school and that felt like the most important project he'd ever worked on. Besides the Spiderman suit.


	5. Be A Child (Just A Little While Longer)

**A/N** : This is super short and I honestly have no excuse for it. Enjoy. Feedback is appreciated! x

 **Summary** : Peter teaches Shuri about Planking.

* * *

"I can't believe you've never heard of planking, Shuri!", Peter exclaimed, grinning widely as the girl followed after him to the living room where everyone else was gathered.

"Hey dad, could you clear your lap for a second there?", he asked while sprinting over to where the man was sitting and Tony, god bless him, didn't even blink or interrupt his, undoubtedly important, conversation with T'Challa and Bruce. He simply uncrossed his legs and raised the glass that had been resting on his lap to his lips.

Not a second later Peter had hurled himself at him and was now lying face down on Tony's lap, abs engaged to keep his body in a straight line and arms to either side of his body.

Nonchalantly Tony put down his smoothie again, this time on the teenager's back, and simply shrugged at Bruce's flabbergasted expression.

Truth be told, this wasn't even the weirdest thing the kid had ever done and, judging by T'Challa's deep sigh and small grin at his sister, the king was used to similar shenanigans.

"And then what do you do?" Shuri asked, biting her lip as she watched Peter intently.

Flipping over - and almost knocking over the smoothie in the process - Peter grinned, "Nothing. Well, take a picture of it but F.R.I.D.A.Y. records everything anyway."

He scrambled away from Tony's lap, now slumping down on the couch next to his dad, taking a sip from the smoothie and looking expectantly up at the girl, "You should try it, it's fun!"

She didn't need to be told twice and her brother had made space on his lap before she could even warn him. Yeah, T'Challa seemed to be used to whatever new craziness his sister got up to and, much like Tony, he didn't question it anymore.

Shuri squealed with joy when she got down from planking, swatting her brother's hands away that were messing with her hair and Tony could only laugh at the childlike excitement of the two, well, children when they skipped out of the room to pursue their new hobby.

Needless to say that that weekend was spend with everyone randomly tripping over the kids lying face down on whatever surface they deemed appropriate.

Of course that included floors as well as things that were way too high and thin for Tony's and T'Challa's liking but before they could even speak up, they were already up and running towards a new destination.

The pictures F.R.I.D.A.Y. took of them wound up being sorted into a photo album that both teenagers got for Children's Day.


	6. The Things I'd do For You

**Summary** : In which Peter and Tony go for a run in Central Park.

* * *

"Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark! . -"

"Kid," he interrupted the overexcited superhero that had come barreling into his lab, "We've already established that you keep going against my express wishes in calling me with my given name, no need to rub it in."

"But Mr. Stark," the boy whined – yes, whined – and grinned up at him like the incorrigible teenager that he was, "Your surname is also a name given to you at birth, making it a given name."

Tony glared at him. "And also the one I hate the most out of all my given names."

"I thought that was Edward." Peter laughed when Tony simply continued to glare at him and his soft curls started bouncing up and down, making him look that much younger and that much more adorable. Before he could voice any of those thoughts, though, the billionaire turned away and got back to the newest update on Rhodey's prosthetics that he was working on.

"Is there a point to your visit?" He wanted to know, letting sarcasm bleed heavily through his voice but being about ninety percent sure that it couldn't cover up the fondness that laced his tone whenever he talked to his mentee. Oh well. E for effort. "Other than reminding me why I never got kids in the first place?"

Ouch. That came out harsher than he had intended it to and Tony looked up quickly to see how Peter would take it. Once he had voice it, he realized how much it wasn't true, too, not that he'd ever say _that_ out loud.

Thankfully the boy was used to his mentor's filter opting out every once in a while and didn't react much at all. He had dropped down on one of the swivel chairs and was lazily turning back and forth, twisting his body in ways Tony was certain it wasn't meant to be twisted in. Picking up one of the spare parts Tony was yet to put in he started scratching his head with it.

The thought that his hair was probably freshly washed with the way his curls fell right into place came involuntarily and before he could stop himself the billionaire superhero had turned away from the prosthetic and was reaching to take the clunky metal pin from the boy to run his own hands through the fluffy texture that were Peter's freshly washed curls.

"What's up, Underoos?" he asked gently now, smiling when his mentee leaned back to rest his head against his stomach. That left Tony to brush the curls from his forehead which he did more than gladly before dropping his hand down to massage his shoulders. "Is your shoulder still hurting?"

"Nah, it's okay," Peter told him, "I just couldn't sleep last night."

"You want to take a nap now?" It couldn't be much later than 8 in the morning if he wasn't completely mistaken. And he should know, he had been up since shortly after 5 after a nightmare induced panic attack had kept him from enjoying his weekly Saturday sleep in. (Who was he kidding, he rarely slept past 7 and only when he left his lab at like 3. An unhealthy habit he had hoped the kid wouldn't pick up from him.)

"'M not tired," said kid mumbled even as Tony watched his eyes drop close. "That's the problem. I don't get tired. I've got too much energy!"

Suddenly, before Tony could so much as blink, he had jumped up and was dancing through the room before jumping up on the ceiling and blinking down at the older man who's heart had plummeted to his stomach at the acrobatics. The teenage vigilante currently walking up and down on his ceiling didn't seem to realize that, however, and simply kept on ranting.

"I mean my shoulder is fine! I swear! I mean it's been almost a week and I promise I'm back to normal. Pleaaase let me go back out as Spiderman. Please!"

"Now I get why your aunt wanted you to spend the weekend at the tower," Tony sighed, trying to ignore the upside down puppy eyes even as he dropped down on the couch so it'd be easier to look up without his neck killing him for it later. "She didn't want to deal with this. Thankfully," he added after an undignified snort coming from the ceiling, "I am in no way swayed by your big brown eyes."

"Oh really?" Peter quipped, already looking as if he was mapping out another argument in his head, "And what about that time when you said I couldn't have more ice cream only to-"

"I am in no way swayed by your puppy eyes when it's about something regarding your safety or health," he rectified his statement. "Your shoulder might be all healed up on the outside but it's still warm, meaning your body is still working to get completely back to normal. That means no movements that would pull on the joint too much and I'm very sorry to inform you that your bodyweight and the added velocity is putting a lot of strain on your shoulder when you're slinging through the city. I'm sure you understand the math of that."

Peter pouted but dropped down from the ceiling and halfway onto Tony's lap in the process. "You're no fun. At least tell me what to do with all the energy!"

"Kid," Tony interrupted him, pushing him into a more comfortable position for both of them, "You do know that we have a huge gym just two stories up, right? Go run on the treadmill for an hour or something. Knock yourself out."

"But Mr. Stark running inside is _so_ boring, can't we go run outside?"

"Wait," he stopped him before the plea could go further, "When did I say I wanted to go running?"

Peter stopped to look at him, cocking his head to the side questioningly, "You always get in your cardio before breakfast on weekends."

"Right." He didn't stop to think how the Spiderling knew his routine so well but it was true. He would've gone down to the gym after putting the last finishing touches on the prosthetic to get in an hour of cardio before starting on pancakes for their breakfast. Usually Peter slept longer, though, and woke up to the breakfast already sitting on the counter waiting for him.

"I never go outside to run, though."

"But you should," the teenager frowned up at him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "You don't get out nearly often enough. May says you're starting to look more and more like a hermit. And I mean the sun is out but it's not too hot. It's the perfect running weather. And Central Park isn't too far from here! Please, Mr. Stark."

Damn this freaking kid with his big eyes.

"You ever think that there might be a reason why I don't run outside?" he asked him, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible even as he grew increasingly agitated.

It was the part of being Tony Stark that he hated most of all. He had never gotten the privilege to just go outside when he felt like it. Not without a bunch of reporters following his every step and waiting for a new mishap on his part. Everyone was always waiting on him to fuck up and make a mess and really, it had taken the allure out of going outside for him ages ago.

But here sat pure Peter Parker, wanting to go for a run with him and he realized he really wanted to say yes. The boy looked so hopeful, so innocently clueless and while Tony knew that he had seen the worst of the world already, he was scared that eventually something would dim the light in his bright eyes and he didn't want to have that on his conscience.

"You can't just hide all the time," the boy said then, his earnestness a sign of how fast he had had to grow up. "I mean, let them write about you taking a Saturday morning jog, what do you care? You always tell me not to listen when they write something about Spiderman. They have no idea what they're talking about anyway, right?"

Tony turned, one knee tugged up, to get a better look at the teenager. "I'm not worried about what they'll say about me," he told him with a sigh, "I just don't want them to go after you, Pete. I want you as far away from this as possible". He gestured in the general direction of himself, much to the kid's obvious chagrin.

For a moment the kid's head dropped in defeat and Tony wanted to do something about it. Wanted to scream out how unfair this world was, wanted to buy every newspaper just so that he could go out with his kid without worrying… but, before he could do anything to make Peter feel better, he did it himself.

"But they know you're friends with Spiderman!" he exclaimed, already standing and bouncing on the balls of his feet, "I could go as Spiderman and it'd be just two superheroes hanging out."

Despite himself, Tony let out an amused snort as he watched the bundle of teenaged frenzied excitement, "I'm not gonna go running in the Ironman armor, buddy."

Rolling his eyes, Peter took his mentors hands and pulled him up. "No, but Tony Stark's the superhero behind Ironman so you're fine. I mean it's not like you went out of your way to keep your identity a secret in the first place."

The kid did have a point.

"Fine," he relented, silently pleased at the prospect of going out to enjoy the first warm rays of sunshine on a promising looking spring day with his kid. Even if said kid had to go running in spandex to not cause a public uproar about Tony Stark's illegitimate son. "Get your suit and meet me in the living room in ten."

"Yes!" the teenager cried out, throwing a victorious fist in the air before running out of the lab's glass doors as fast as he had come in, with Tony slowly trailing after him after turning off the lights and instructing Dum-E to clean the rest up.

Eight minutes later, Tony met the fidgeting Spiderling at the elevator and grinned when the eyes on the suit widened the moment they fell on him. It were moments like these that he was really grateful for having added that particular feature because it was usually the only thing that told him of Peter's delightfully fantastic mimic when he was in the suit.

His own black jogging wear was a stark contrast to the bright red of the Spiderman suit and only the bright arc reactor that was housing his nanobots, _just in case_ , gave way to his part time activity as a superhero (" _Mr. Stark that looks so cool!_ "). Though, he guessed his face was a pretty good giveaway, too.

"Let's go."

The ended up running for two hours in which the kid updated Tony on everything that had come up in the past week and told him about the field trip his class was going on next Wednesday. To Oscorp. ("And like, I really don't wanna complain, but why do we always have to go to Oscorp?" – "You wanna come to Stark Industries next time?" – "Can you actually do that? Yes!")

Tony enjoyed the constant rambling and even found himself managing to crack a real smile on the few times they got asked for selfies. He was grinning at Peter – _Spiderman_ – practically bursting for joy at the question if nothing else.

They went jogging on Sunday, too, and their runs went so well that, when Pepper suggested that they go for a run in Central Park next Wednesday, he didn't hesitate before agreeing with a small, excited smile and a kiss to her cheek.

That smile, of course, fell from his face when a wizard interrupted their easy banter, proclaiming the imminent end of the world.


	7. Sparks Filled With Hope

**Prompt: Sharing Headphones:** _"Sharing headphones could be something related to angst if you wanted that! Like either Peter or Tony gets really nervous or starts panicking because of something, so the other one plays a song that always calms them down on the headphones? Whatever you do with the prompt, I know it's going to be something absolutely incredible ahhh I'm looking forward to it!"_ ( **underoosstark** )

Song: Flares by The Script

* * *

"Dammit, kid! Watch where you're going, would you?"

He didn't even flinch when the old man waltzed past him, shoving his shoulder against Peter's in the process in a way that would have been painful had it been a normal person. And had it been a person who wasn't already hurting all over.

He had gone to bed with a headache yesterday and he had hoped it would get better overnight but it hadn't. On top of the headache he had woken up feeling nauseous and his senses that were usually dialed up to eleven where ogling the fifteen mark.

Stopping on a red light, he moved his head to let his gaze wander over the people around him in a daze before he let it drop back down.

There were so many people, too many details and impressions raining down on him and his brain was too slow to make sense of them all. As if the world was HD and his processor not big enough to play it so it kept buffering and reloading and eventually the signal would break off, leaving him with a blank screen.

When his legs started moving again he tried to be aware enough to not run into any more people. Touch was painful today. No matter how light and gentle. May's hands brushing over his arm at breakfast had been a hell fire he had smiled through and Ned's handshake had gone on for an eternity. An eternity spent in purgatory.

The worst thing, though, were the looks. The pity and concern in their eyes when he greeted them, as if he would fall apart any second, burst into a million pieces they were just waiting to pick up. He hated how fragile they made him feel and he hated how fragile he was, how not okay and broken. What right did he have to be pitied? What right did he have to be pitied by May of all people?

He was the reason they were both grieving in the first place.

His stomach coiled and he swallowed the heart burn back down, gagging at both the taste and the burning sensation the acid left in his throat.

The images wouldn't stop coming. They were following him, taunting him, blaming him. They were writing _bloody murder_ wherever he looked and whenever he did, he felt the blood drip from his hands. Warm and innocent.

There were also the noises in his head that mixed with the sounds around him.

The shot, the screaming and shuffling and hurrying footsteps. There were the whispers, the whispers of a dead man. He didn't want to hear, didn't want to feel, didn't want to _be_.

What he had realized this morning when May had woken him up with a tentative smile and a longer-than-usual- hug was that he couldn't cry. His eyes stayed dry no matter how much the pain spiked and it made everything so much worse. The pain wouldn't come out. It sat somewhere in his central nervous system, studying his inner workings to see where it could cause the most agony.

Sometimes his limb were on fire, sometimes he was suffocating because his lungs refused to work. He was alternating between feeling dizzy, too hot, too cold and going numb. Like he was on a carousel and with every turn his entire being would change. Except for the grief – that stayed the same. The axis everything else was pivoting around.

A little girl ran into his legs and made him stumble, the quick apology she flung at him in a hurry making him look up. She was already gone but when his eyes adapted to the bright sun, he could make out the big bold letters in front of him and for the first time today he felt something that wasn't sorrow. Something that might be a flicker of hope.

Still he stopped in his tracks, unsure of what to do, frozen to the spot until his phone beeped with a message. (Hadn't he put it on silent earlier?)

 _Come on up, kid. I've got hot chocolate and blankets._

For the first time today he felt tears prick at his eyes, sitting on the verge of spilling over but not quite there yet. It made the flicker of hope grow into a timidly bickering flame.

Peter took a deep breath, letting the relief that was the cool air in his lungs fill his entire being before he exhaled. If there was a flame he would do his damned best to nurture it so it wouldn't die. He could do that.

The first wobbly step felt like a Herculean task and it took him half a minute to move one foot in front of the other. The second was palpably less shaky and with the third one he felt almost back in control of his body, enough so that he didn't have to consciously think about the next five anymore. Just like that he was standing in front of the huge double doors, meeting his reflection's eyes in the glass.

Bleary eyes looked back at him, making the lack of a smile on his face seem even more distinctive. When he looked down, his hands were still tinted red and he could've sworn that there was a black hole where his stomach should be but – looking up again – the tiny glimmer of hope in his eyes was still there.

So he pulled open the door and let his body follow the directions F.R.I.D.A.Y. was giving him from the ceiling, shutting his brain down for the time being.

When he reached the living room, the lights were dimmed and his favorite blanket was sitting on the couch as if it belonged there. On the coffee table stood a steaming mug that smelled of chocolate. It wasn't just any mug either. It was the biggest one they had and it was the exact same one that May and him had at home.

He looked up to see his mentor standing a little off to the side as if he wasn't sure whether or not to come closer and he felt his eyes burn as tears pricked at them again. Hesitantly he took the first step, not trusting his voice to make it through a sentence, just hoping that Tony would understand like he always seemed to.

Not a second after he had moved, he was tugged into a full bodied hug and rough calloused hands were carding through his hair as if they had never done anything else in their lives.

"I'm- I'm sorry," he whispered and every word that left his mouth felt a little closer to the breakdown that he was anticipating, that he was craving. He just wanted to get it all out.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Pete." Tony's voice was so close to his ear that his warm breath reverberated through his body, spreading like a wildfire. A fire of warmth and home and love, a stark contrast to the cold breeze of grief that was still gripping at his heart.

Peter let himself be dragged towards the couch and when he felt himself being tugged into the warm dark green blanket, he closed his eyes and just tried to stay in the moment.

"It's okay, buddy," Tony whispered, situating him so his head was resting on the billionaire's shoulder and he could curl his body around his. "You can let go now. You can cry, it's okay, I'm here. You're not alone –"

 _I just want you to know… that you're never alone in this._

The teenager staggered under the weight of the words and the way they became more intertwined until he couldn't discern them anymore.

"May called me earlier. She was so worried that you'd – that you'd do something. And – I know how hard it is."

 _I know that this.. everything.. is hard sometimes_

"You're so strong, bud, so incredibly strong," his mentor's voice wavered and with it, Peter felt the very first tear slip past his closed eyelids. "I'm so proud of you. I'm so grateful I'm allowed to call you my kid."

 _We love you so much and we're proud of you. You're our boy, right?_

The tears kept coming, running down his cheeks and his chin until they got lost in the soft fabric of the blanket. The salt tasted foreign but welcome on his lip. It tasted like relief and every sob that shook his body felt like his own personal remedy.

The grief was still there, it had never left but he could wash it out for now, could clean himself off the pain that accompanied it, could focus on how his uncle's fingers used to rub over his shoulder blades to get him to relax and how he had smiled at Peter whenever he had explained something to him. He concentrated on the way his voice used to be filled with so much love, how gentle it had always been.

Through it all, Tony was there. Tony was letting him cling, he wasn't letting go and – as guilty as that made him feel – Peter was grateful for it. There was just one –

"My- my phone," he got out between hiccups, making a move to untangle himself from the blanket before a steady hand stopped his frantic movements and handed him the phone, together with a pair of headphones.

"You want me to give you some spac – "

"No!" His wide eyes found his mentor's. _Please don't leave._ "I wanna – I wanna show you something. If – If that's okay?"

He didn't wait for an answer but instead pushed one of the earbuds into the older man's hand and started tapping through his phone. Good thing, he knew the keystrokes by heart because he could barely see through the veil of tears that were still spilling from his eyes as if they were never going to stop. When he had found it he waited for Tony to put the bud into his ear before taking a deep breath and pressing down on the touch screen. Without conscious thought he curled into the billionaire's side once more.

 _"Hey Pete. I know you're not with Ned and Mister Delmar told me you haven't been at his place for a few weeks now and I – I don't know where else to look anymore, buddy. Please come home. Your aunt and I are really worried about you. I know that this… everything… it's hard sometimes but I just want you to know that you're never alone in this. You can always talk to us. We love you so much and we're proud of you. You're our boy, right? Just… come home, Pete, please. I'm –"_

Peter flinched when the gun shot rang through the headphones and buried his head deeper into Tony's chest when the shuffling and shouting started until –

 _Beep. You have reached the last saved message. To delete the message –_

"I couldn't – I couldn't listen to it again after that night," he confessed in a hoarse whisper, "I couldn't – couldn't hear his voice and not – not have him here. He was out there looking for me and – oh god –"

His voice broke and so did his spirit.

"It's my fault. All – all my fault," he cried, "And now- and now he's – he's _gone_. He'll never come back again. And I'm – why am I still alive? Why did he have to –? I can't do it, Mister Stark. It doesn't get – it _never gets easier_. Everyone always said it would get easier but it _doesn't_. I just want –"

 _I want my Uncle Ben back. I want my parents and May and Ben and you. Why can't I have all of you? Why does everyone always have to leave me?_

He didn't say that, though, because he might still be a kid but he had seen enough of the world to know that pleading and begging and even praying wouldn't get him anywhere. It would only hurt more to put it out there and be told so, too. Instead he let himself be held.

Tony's hands were back in his hair, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp. He was talking, too, but Peter couldn't make out the words – only the comfort they provided.

Peter didn't know how the other man had caught his phone and how he had managed to type while holding him but suddenly another noise sounded through the ear bud still in his right ear, a soothing melody canceling out some of the horror and guilt and grief that had settled into his soul. The soft sound of the piano filled him with calm like only this song could. He nearly cried again, out of gratitude, but Tony simply pulled him closer and they listened together until the song was over, both with an earbud in their ear, heads resting together and eyes closed.

By the time the last piano notes of _Flares_ faded away, Peter's breathing had evened out and although he wasn't really okay and might not be for a long time, he knew that he didn't have to do this alone. He had people in his corner who would guide him even through the darkest nights until the sun would rise again and for now that was enough. It had to be enough.

 _But did you see the flares in the sky?  
Were you blinded by the light?  
Did you feel the smoke in your eyes?  
Did you, did you?  
Did you see the sparks filled with hope?  
You are not alone  
'Cause someone's out there, sending out flares  
Someone's out there, sending out flares_


	8. Never Said He Was My Son

**Summary:** Peter calls Tony dad. It's cool, really, just unexpected for the bunch of superheroes currently standing in their kitchen.

A/N: Hi, I've not forgotten about this tiny thing but I'm super busy so I probably won't be able to update much until like... March? Idk, exams suck.

* * *

It had started as a joke, really.

With an eye roll and an exasperated sigh he had channeled what Mr. Stark called his inner teenager and had shot out a quick "Sure, _daad,_ " dragging out the tiny syllable half in annoyance, half in glee at the older man's flabbergasted expression.

A, "Peter Parker, I swear to god you are going to be grounded for at least a year", had been the reply and that had been that.

Ever since then, whenever the billionaire couldn't suppress his overbearing helicopter parent tendency (not that he ever really tried too hard to begin with), Peter would call him out on it, mostly with a grin, sometimes with an angry huff and crossed arms in front of his chest, sulking like only a pubescent teen could..

Sometimes he'd use it to his advantage when he really wanted something because he had long since learned that a whiny 'dad' coupled with his patented puppy eyes would get him almost anything he could wish for.

It had grown on both of them, had become a comfortable part of their daily routine that they didn't want to miss.

But now, now all of the freshly pardoned Avengers were staring at him with varying degrees of shock seemingly etched on their faces and the last letter died on his tongue with a small, "Oh."

He'd just called Tony 'dad' in front of literally all of Earth's mightiest heroes.

The man himself simply walked up to him, greeting him with the usual hair ruffle and, "Hey kid, I've got your snacks in the fridge. Grab those and one of your old shirts from your room and we can get started on that project of yours."

The normalcy of it had him forgetting their guests for a second. Instead he turned to the fridge with rediscovered hunger, muttering a half-hearted, "I told you I don't really need help with that, Mr. Stark. It's just for my chemistry class."

Before Tony could reply, Steve Rogers spoke up. Captain freaking America looked him up and down, squinting slightly before giving a quick nod with his head and extending his hand to Peter.

"I'm Steve. I didn't know Tony had a kid."

That last part was directed at the man (dad?) in question who had come up behind Peter, clapping his shoulders encouragingly while the teenager spluttered out a, "H- hi, I'm Peter. I'm uh-"

"Busy finishing a very important chemistry project", Tony supplied for him and he was both grateful because he really didn't know what he was supposed to introduce himself as _(I'm an intern? Spiderman? Not his kid but still call him dad but don't worry, it's Our Thing?)_ and embarrassed. Why did he have to bring up his homework in front of a bunch of superheroes? They would most definitely laugh about him behind his back.

"Up you go", Tony continued, ignoring Peter's inner turmoil, and pulled him from his thoughts, pushing him towards the door lightly, "Inhale that sandwich, get a shirt and your notes from your room and meet me in the lab in like ten minutes."

Despite his nervousness, or maybe because of it, he did as he was told with only a muttered, "So bossy", that of course Tony picked up on.

"You wanna say something, squirt?", the older man wanted to know, eyebrows raised and his voice colored with just a faint-barely-there tad amusement.

"Nope", he grinned up innocently, popping the 'p' and then, because the rest of the Avengers still stood in their kitchen without moving a muscle, he added a, "Be nice to our guests, _dad_ " _,_ before bolting for the door and running up to his room.

Boy, oh boy, was his heart thumping along in his chest along wildly right now. It felt like the organ, though not bigger than the size of his fist, wanted to break out of his rib cage and jump right back down to the kitchen to tango on the counter.

What the hell had just happened?

As he tried to calm his nerves and scarfed down the sandwich, he couldn't help but tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to lift the usual soundproofing of his room enough so he could listen in on the conversation happening downstairs.

* * *

"So", Tony's voice broke through the thick layer of nothing that had descended on the room after Peter had left, "Looks like it slipped my mind to tell you that I have custody on Tuesdays, Thursdays and every other weekend. Try not to be too loud on school nights, although his room's on my floor so you shouldn't even get that close to start anything and it's also soundproof if he wants it to be.

Kid's got access to all parts of the Tower and be aware that he uses it plenty. Don't mess up the order of the Star Wars movies on the shelf, don't eat all the Lucky Charms without letting F.R.I.D.A.Y. know so she can stock up on them and uh-", he picked up his - by now cold - cup of coffee from the counter and took a sip, trying to wreck his mind for something he might've missed,.

"Oh and don't give him any ideas", his eyes rested on Clint for a moment, "he's a very impressionable kid and I'll know who to ask when he comes up with even crazier ideas than usual. Your rooms are still where you last saw them, didn't change a thing. That should be about it. Any questions? I've got a lab date in 8 minutes and about 20 seconds."

In the silence that followed, Tony watched the people around him stare at him and he had to force his expression to stay relatively neutral because, really, he was enjoying this way too much.

It had been a while since he had rendered the whole squad speechless and he never would've guessed that a kid would have had anything to do with it. His kid no less.

Clint broke through the silence first, "You mean apart from the 'What the fuck, Stark, you have a kid?'-stuff", he looked down at his fingernails as if he was actually contemplating his next words before giving a nonchalant shrug and moved past Tony to get himself a cup of coffee, "Nope. No questions."

Now he did grin at the super spy as they clinked glasses.

"Great. Dinner's around 8", he told them with his last sip of coffee when the rest of them still didn't seem to have much more to say, "Usually we cook but I don't really feel like feeding a super soldier and a growing teenager with my hard work so we'll order in. Leave your pizza choices with F.R.I.D.A.Y."

With that he turned and sauntered out of the room gracefully. He only succumbed to his growing laughter when he had already reached his lab and heard the door fall close behind him. His eyes met the teenager who was already curled up on his couch trying to look as inconspicuously as possible and failing miserably at it.

"You listened in, didn't you?", Tony grinned at him widely when he stuck his tongue and shrugged with a very convincing, "Maybe."

"Can you hear them right now?", the billionaire asked, plopping down next to his kid, still breathing heavily but back in control of his body.

Peter cocked his head to one side, closing his eyes in concentration before cracking a grin, "They're currently taking bets on whether or not I'm biologically your son."

They locked eyes after that, both letting that sink in before bursting out into laughter again.

"Oh, it's on", Tony gasped in between laughs, "The Avengers won't even know what hit them now that they've got two Starks coming after them."


	9. A Funny Little Thing

**A/N:** Hey there, how ya doin'. This little thing is about 1k about Tony Stark's definition of family. I'm not entirely sure this fits into the oneshot series but it also doesn't not fit so here we are. As always, feedback is appreciated and if you wanna you can follow me on tumblr (josywbu) or just follow the irondad blog I run with my bestie (weartirondad). Much love x

* * *

Family's a funny little thing.

Even with all his cleverness and imagination and ingenuity… if he's being honest, it's one of the few things he's never been able to wrap his head around.

(That and pineapple on pizza and smelly chees but he has resigned to that always remaining a mystery to him)

No, but family?

He's not quite sure what that entails.

When he is 7, holding his swollen cheek and trying to blink past the blood that is dropping down from the cut on his eyebrow that's messing up his view and his lips are pressed into a thin line as to not make a sound, he thinks he gets it.

Family means an absent father with an alcohol problem, strong hands and poor impulse control and a mother too scared to stand up for her son or herself. It means either obeying to his creator's rules without questioning them or getting a black eye for his fractiousness.

Family is the hell he was born into. Cold and unwelcoming and nothing but pain. Family is an obligation and a burden and he's sure he could never fully grasp how anyone would go back there out of their own free will.

At the age of 14 he somehow stumbles into the Rhodes' family.

From the second Rhodey's dad greets him with a wide welcoming smile and a "how are you, son?", he realizes that this is vastly different to everything he has known before.

Rhodey's mum is sassy where his is submissive and where his dad is angry, Rhodey's is soft. Where his family is quiet, cold and rejecting, this one is loud, cheerful, warm and open. They welcome him with open arms and treat him like one of their own.

Rhodey's uncle becomes his uncle and his cousin enjoys having two boys to dress up and do her biding now.

It takes some time but after a while Tony learns that when the adults raise their hands at him it's usually to give him a high five rather than plant it in his face to leave their mark.

It's weird… that this seems to be normal, too, apparently. It's a stark difference to, well, the Stark Mansion with all its high walls, clean carpets and old vases. This family feels more like home than his own ever has so he starts dreaming about having one of his own one day - in secret and ashamed but silently hopeful.

He thinks he has a shot at that when he's 40, fosters a house full of superheroes - his team - and has an assistant-turned-CEO-turned-girlfriend by his side. He's happy but then again, there's always a nagging voice inside him telling him he's damaged and no one really wants damaged goods.

No matter what he does, it's never enough it's never what they deserve. It's like it used to be at home that wasn't a home. And so, inevitably they fight and they snap and they leave because, so far, no one has ever stayed.

He's 42 when he buries his hope to ever have something good of his own. Maybe it's just not meant to be. Maybe it's in his blood, his DNA coded in a way that leaves no room for supportive conversations and calm family dinners. Or in his brain that's always too busy inventing, battling his own demons and being scared to ever have someone willing to stick around and to care for him.

Somehow he's nearing 50 now, just half a year out, and he's on the lawn of one of his holiday houses in the Hamptons and his wedding band is glistening in the sun when he winds up to throw the baseball as far as he can.

His kid-but-not-really-but-in-every-way-that-counts laughs loudly when he chases after it and he watches, a wide smile on his face as his eyes follow the boy jogging across their makeshift field, unruly curls bouncing with every step, hanging into his eyes when he finally gets to the ball and he grins proudly when it disappears on their neighbor's property.

Tony is shaking his head in exasperation. "I'm not going to get that for you," he tells him in no uncertain terms, fondness giving away the lie in his words.

"Oh please, Mister Stark," the kid whines, bumping their shoulders together with a pout, "You know how scared I am of Miss _Sunshine_."

Before he has the chance to snark back, Pepper is calling for them.

His wife and May are standing on the patio, barefoot and with light bouncing of their hair. He can hear the sound of their laughter, it fills his soul up with a surge of warm contentment. His entire being is buzzing with the gentle energy they generate.

"I think Happy and Rhodey might be getting here for the barbecue," Peter tells him matter-of-factly and he's suddenly overcome with such a wave of fondness that he can't help but reach out to his kid to ruffle his hair and tuck him closer to his side.

It hits him then how Peter doesn't flinch away like he did the first time Rhodey's dad went in to hug him. No, Peter leans into the embrace without hesitation without even a hint of the fear Tony used to associate with his father's touch. His relaxed posture gives away his genuine trust and unconditional love as he's enjoying the contact, settling into the familiarity.

Familiarity.

 _Family_.

This is his family.

Not the one he feared he would end up with, not the one Rhodey has had and not even the one he dreamed about having all those years ago but in the end none of that matters.

This is _his_ version of family.

A little chaotic, a good chunk of patchwork with pieces from the most unexpected corners but inherently _good_ and undoubtedly _his_.

So, yes, family's a funny little thing but he thinks he understands it a little better now.


	10. Hell's Frozen (I'm Getting You Out)

"Are you ready, Stark?" Captain America's voice filtered through the intercom. It sounded tinny and far away and ran down Tony's spine like ice water, making him shudder at the thought of how alone he was.

It wasn't that he was completely alone, he acknowledged as his gaze grazed his partner swiftly. Half- alien, half- android and full of spite and a blood-curdling thirst for vengeance. If he had to reverse the effects that had randomly eliminated half the universe then Nebula wasn't the worst to have on his side, not even close.

Maybe it would've been nicer if she would joke like he usually did before shit hit the fan, hiding his fear behind a mask of snark. She barely reacted to his jibes, hyper-focused on what lay before them. Which, if he was being honest, was probably a good idea.

So, no, not completely alone.

He would even go as far as to call her something akin to a friend and, without the shadow of a doubt, a trustworthy team mate. She rarely talked but she rarely had to. They were alike in a lot of ways, Tony had realized over the time they had spent together, and so very different in others. There were enough similarities and contrasts to make them work seamlessly as a team.

"I have never been readier for anything in my life," he responded after a moment, keeping his voice steady and strong through sheer force of will alone. "I've been preparing for this for two years."

It was the truth, too.

It's been two years.

Two years spent planning and training for this one final fight.

Two years grieving everyone they had lost and building their resolve to get them back.

Two years that seemed surreal and somehow realer than anything he had ever lived through.

Two years that had felt like he was being cut open by the blunt knife that was losing a kid over and over again but that had healed other parts in him with the padding of tiny footsteps and happy cries of 'Daddy'.

A lot had changed in two years and yet it felt like nothing had changed at all.

He had never really come back from Titan, at least not all parts of him. Not even the most important parts of him had made it back to earth in that clattering, rattling tin can that Starlord had called his ship.

Now he was back here on the planet where everything had been taken from him and he was about to get it all back.

Hell yeah, he was ready!

He let his mask retreat from his face and hissed when the cold air hit his face. His breath was coming out foggy, the cold a stark contrast to how he remembered the planet. As much as it hurt, the dark blue sky that had replaced the orange one he never did stop dreaming about made it easier not to fall back into the panic that was only an inch from the surface at any given time. It was easier to keep a clear head with the air cutting into his skin like a knife. The pain kept him centered.

Nebula was the first to move. She took a step towards where the man, that had called himself her father but had never been more than her tormenter, lay unconscious on the ground. Her stride didn't waver and her guard never faltered when she kneeled down beside him, pulling the gauntlet off of his cold hands with an unprecedented gentleness.

When they had made the plan, this had been the one variable they hadn't been sure of. They knew where Thanos would be but they hadn't had any idea if he was still alive and, if so, how strong he would still be. As it was, this right there was the best case scenario Tony had never counted on. It felt wrong for something so life changing to be so easy.

The moment she had pulled the gauntlet off, she let it drop to the ground with a hiss and it landed on the frozen ground with a loud _clong_. It was all Tony could do to stare at her burnt hand in shock.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, already moving towards her in a way he did whenever Morgan cried out in pain, but she gave her usual sharp nod and ignored him in favor of smiling down humorlessly at the man that had taken everything from her.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment, ignoring the demands for information from the other side of the galaxy in both their ears. Understanding dawned on him before she started talking again and it made his stomach coil in dread but, like hers, his resolve never wavered, if anything he stood up a little straighter.

"I won't be able to wield the gauntlet," she explained for everyone they had left back on Earth but her eyes were locked with his, a silent apology that made his throat run dry. She had been so ready to die, to give her life for everyone else and to prove her worth to herself and even that had been taken from her. "The stones won't accept some machine as their master. It needs to be a living being."

Tony could hear the screams on the other side. Could hear Rogers even over Thor's loud hollering, both screaming that _there had to be another way_.

"Listen, Stark, don't do anything stupid," the Captain's authority bled through every word but it couldn't cover up Steve Roger's panic, "We'll find another way. We'll do it some other time. We'll send someone else up there with you."

"There is no other way, Cap," he told him gently even as he eyed the piece of metal that might very well be his downfall, "You're needed on Earth the moment our purple raisin comes back to fight you. All of you need to be there to kill him, otherwise this would have all been for nothing. I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"You might not be able to live at all." Nebula's voice cut through everything else and he met her gaze, warmer than anything he had ever seen on her before. "You could die." There was a humanity bleeding through that she always covered up in fear of it being exploited.

He understood where she was coming from. Not too long ago he had been like this.

He jerked his head in a nod, tears trickling down his cheeks and freezing on his skin before they could hit his goatee. "If it's my life for half the universe… It's not even a question," he told her quietly and even quieter, almost a whisper that he was sure wouldn't be picked up on comms, he added, "My life for his life. There's no way I'm not doing this."

She understood like he knew she would but back in Wakanda Steve was still screaming.

"Stark! You can't do this! Think of your family. Think of Pepper. Damn it, think of your daughter! You can't sacrifice yourself. I won't let you."

Tony blinked the tears away, the mask coming back up to cover his face the second the nanites sensed his final decision.

(A parent choosing their kid's life over their own wasn't really a choice as much as it was a deeply ingrained instinct.)

"It's not your choice to make, Steve," he told his teammate and former friend steadily, "And you can be sure I'm going to fight it with everything I've got so I can come home to my kids. Both of them. I don't want to die." For the first time in his life there was no lie in his words.

"Rhodey," he addressed his unusually quiet best friend that he knew was listening, "You know what to do should I not make it back."

The response took nearly minute but it came because Rhodey would always have his back and Tony closed his eyes at the familiar warm in his heart when he heard the voice that had been by his side for most of his life, "I do, Tones. But I'm going to kick your ass six ways from Sunday if you don't make it back."

He couldn't bring his lips to form the 'I love you' burning on his tongue but he knew Rhodey knew. He wouldn't say goodbye. Not yet.

"Be ready," he told them, his voice strong and sure – a lie, optimism, a flicker of hope maybe? "Give him all you've got. I want you to give me a play by play about how you managed to impale the grape head when all this is over. I'm counting on it."

"We are ready, Stark." Thor's voice echoed through his helmet when it was apparent that Steve wouldn't answer. "As always, it is an honor to be fighting by your side."

Something in him steeled at the words and the images of other fights they had come out of on top flicked through his head, giving him the power to kneel next to the gauntlet and lift it up.

The moment his gloves touched the weapon, almost all of his armor assembled on his left hand, leaving only the bare minimum to cover the rest of his body. Somehow he knew that it didn't need as much protection right then.

Somehow it felt like he had been destined to do this.

And it sounded way too cheesy even in his own ears but when he picked up the only instrument in the universe that could control all six infinity stones, it molded around his reinforced hand until it fit him perfectly where it used to fit a guy three times his size.

He was almost inclined to believe in magic when his eyes traveled to the spot where his kid had disintegrated in his arms. The place where he had learned what it meant to lose something so integrally a part of him that the mere thought of going on without it killed him. And then it didn't – it hadn't killed him and living had been that much harder.

 _Two years._

Tony had told Steve that he didn't want to die and he had meant it but if his death meant Peter would come back then he knew he'd die at peace with himself. There was no cutting the wire for this. No way he would pass up on the opportunity or ever choose differently.

No parent should ever have to outlive their child. He had learned that the hard way and he couldn't do it one more day. If that made him selfish? Then he would let them call him that. As long as his family was alive, nothing else mattered.

The superhero closed his eyes then, blocking out the big red X that was the place he expected Peter to reappear in and concentrated on the power that surged through his body all at once.

Suddenly he could see everything, all the riddles that the no one had yet been able to answer, the reason why everything was the way it was. The pieces fell together like a puzzle – like they had always been there, only hidden from his view.

He knew and felt everything. Every soul, living or dead, that had ever walked in this galaxy was suddenly a part of him and he _understood_. It was too much for a mortal like him, he knew that rationally and – a distant part of him felt the pain that was surging from his left hand through his entire body.

The power he possessed in that moment almost brought him to his knees and he lost sight of why he was doing this in the first place. Only for a minute but then Peter was standing in front of him. _No_. That couldn't be right, he could swear his eyes were still closed.

Still, Peter was there looking up at him with his big brown eyes alight with unconditional love. _Alive?_

"Mr. Stark?" he asked and his voice was shaking, he sounded afraid all of the sudden and Tony hated it. Who the hell dared to scare his child like that?

"Daddy?"

His thoughts came to a screeching halt when his little girl appeared next to Peter, holding on to his legs that were still clad in the Spidersuit. And it didn't make sense. Because Morgan had never gotten to meet her big brother, had never gotten to cling to him or hide behind him when she was scared. Peter had never gotten to lay a protective hand on her head like he was doing now.

They had never –

"You have to let the stones go," they both said and they were both crying and he knew he was crying, too, felt the tears streaming down his face the same way he felt a flower way back on Earth breaking its way through the ground in need for air. He felt with every ounce of his being how life was being reformed in that moment and he basked in the joy of it but something was still wrong.

His children were still crying.

"Come back to us," they begged him, now both pulling on the gauntlet that he was now realizing was burning its way through his suit slowly but surely. "Come back," they demanded with a last tug and then he felt himself tumbling to the ground, his knees scraping over the freezing ground-

Wait. No, that wasn't right.

He blinked and tried to wrap his mind around the dusty ground lit with the bright orange of a slowly dying sun.

A hand was on his shoulder suddenly and he looked up to find Nebula staring back at him, her eyes more expressive than he had ever seen them. Was she crying? Could androids cry? Why did he feel like he had known the answer to that at some point? Why were they here on this orange planet? Why had he expected it to be frozen?

Before he could utter a single one of his questions, voices were in his ear, screaming. He flinched.

"God dammit, Stark, answer!"

"Tony I swear to fucking god if you sacrificed your stupid –"

"Are you there, Tones?"

"Nebula! What's the status?"

"Titan." The word broke through his cracked lips, rolled off his dry tongue and suddenly everything came back and his body felt too light and too heavy all at once. He couldn't hold it up so he let it drop down.

"Tones!" was the only thing that got through to him then, as well as Nebula's hand still on his shoulder.

"He's alive," she finally said, voice cracking on the two words when her eyes focused on something a little off to his side. "They're coming back."

That seemed to be the only incentive that his body needed to scramble over to the place he could find with eyes closed because he had revisited it in his dreams every night. He knew the rocks that were going to cut into his legs and the pit he would stumble into before he even took the first step.

But there was one difference to his dreams.

Where he would usually grasp at thin air, hands coming away covered in dust, his fingers now hit a solid body.

Trembling, cold and bloody. But solid. And alive?

 _"Peter."_

The name left his lips like a lifeline. It was a plea and a curse and a prayer. He was too afraid to open his eyes, scared of not finding what he needed to see. Scared that if he wouldn't, he would die again. There was no way he could go through that a second time.

He did, though, and when his eyes found him his heart soared only to then clench painfully.

The boy's eyes were closed but his face was contorted into a painful grimace. He wasn't moving, not even a twitch of a muscle to tell him whether or not he was alive. There were no signs of any open wounds when Tony looked him up and down and because of the suit he couldn't check his breathing. Just –

His mouth twitched.

Tony fell forward, cradling him in his arms, when Peter's eyes fluttered open and stared up at him and for a moment he just looked at him. His face giving nothing away, as if he was too out of it to form facial expression, as if his muscle memory was still coming back.

"Pete," Tony whispered again, pulling him up until he was halfway sitting and he could see his eyes moving back and forth – unfocussed all of the sudden – until they came back to rest on him. He opened his mouth and-

Gibberish.

The billionaire superhero couldn't make out a single word that left the teenager's lips but he didn't have to. Peter was alive and he was breathing and he was talking and –

"Mis – Mis'er Stark?"

"Hey buddy," he whispered through tears because he couldn't raise his voice over the barely audible volume. He tried to say more but two years of grief were sitting on his chest and they pushed down on it with all their force. All the agony of life without Peter had to leave his body before he could choke out something that resembled an "Okay?" and he just hoped Peter would understand.

Peter who was alive.

Peter who was breathing heavily but he was _breathing_. Peter who was laying in his arms, eyes wide with shock and something wise and sad in them that Tony wished he would never have to see again. Peter who fell forward, forehead hitting Tony's shoulder. Peter who, upon contact, started shaking and sobbing in his arms.

He held the boy's trembling body that seemed so much smaller than a regular teenager right now that reminded him more of the first time he had held his newborn child. The now toddler who was waiting for him at home. And finally he gave into his own need and buried his face in the dirty, sweaty curls in a way he had never done before because _they hadn't been there yet_. (His words. He never regretted anything more in his life.)

 _PeterPeterPeterPeterPeterPeterPeter-_

His whole being centered around the boy that was clinging to him, that allowed himself to fall completely apart in his arms. And he cried.

Tony cried for everything he had lost and for everything he just got back. He cried for everything his kid had lost and for every damn thing he would make sure he would get from now on. The tear tracks felt like burn marks, like a tattoo permanently etched into his skin to tell the world of all the loss he had to endure.

But it didn't matter. His tears didn't matter. All that mattered was the kid in his arms.

"Pete?" he whispered, trying to call onto the last piece of his soul that wasn't shattered and that now had two years of parenting practice, "Hey bud. You're alright, you're safe. I've got you." Over and over he whispered soft reassurances into his ear until Peter's sobs had quietened down to heartbreaking sniffles. All the while he was alternating between massaging his scalp and pressing a kiss into his hair. "Shh. It's okay. I'm here, Pete."

"Mis'er Stark?" The teenager's voice was muffled by his shirt and stuttering through hiccups. "I-I wa-as s-so scared. I-I'm so so-sorry. I-"

"Shh. None of that," he interrupted him gently, hand moving to his neck to hold him even closer, glad when the kid only buried into him more instead of moving way. "None of this is your fault, okay? I know you were scared but I'm here now, okay? We'll get you home and you're never going to be alone again. How's that sound?"

Peter nodded, small hands making a move to curl around Tony's shirt more firmly, "'S good. Really wanna go home," he sniffled before Tony felt his eyes flutter close against his neck.

"I'm getting you home, kid."

A promise, a vow. And the second the words had left his mouth, he felt the kid's body go limp in his arms because he trusted him to keep him safe. And Tony would. This time he would get to hold on.

* * *

 **A/N: LMAO, okay, so story time. Once upon a time I got a comment on here by a guest requesting a story where someone explains to Morgan why Peter calls their Dad Mr. Stark. This is obviously not it. But it was supposed to happen in this story! I got to thinking why Peter would still call him Mr. Stark when she was old enough to question that and instead of just saying "well, he just does" I went there and then I couldn't get back to where I wanted to go. I've had this written for like at least 5 months, thinking one day I'd finish it and get it to be the actual prompt but as I was reading it today and I was trying to come up with an ending it just wouldn't happen. So have this. And maybe I'll write a short piece for the actual prompt one day. Who even knows.**

 **There's also a lot of glossing over basically anything and everything that would need explaining. So, admittedly not one of my finest works but it was fun to write and reread so I thought I'd share.**

 **OVER AND OUT, sorry for the long note. I hope you enjoyed xx**


	11. Keep Me Steady

**A/N** : Aye, this one's for a prompt for our 1k follower's celebration on tumblr ( weartirondad) YES I KNOW IT'S BEEN AGES! Enjoy :)x

 _"Hey is there we send in the ideas for the prompts? They're all so cute but I love the forehead kiss one! And thought it would be angsty and fluffy if it was Peter kissing Tony's forehead in medbay because he got hurt and isnt waking up? Perhaps because he took a hit meant for his spiderson? Anyway love all that u guys do and thanks for tagging me!_ _"_ ( **ironfamjam)**

* * *

"Peter."

He shook his head, never looking up from where his hands were clutching his mask so tightly that it cut off the blood supply to his fingers. The chairs in the waiting area of the compound's med bay weren't the usual cheap plastic ones he remembered from the last time he had sat in a hospital waiting for news.

Shaking his head again he squeezed his eyes shut to make the voices in his head go away. They were too loud, too many and he was too afraid that they were right.

 _No_.

He wouldn't let himself go there. If he did all the tiny pieces that made up his soul that he had held together for the past three hours would finally break and crumble and he _couldn't_ – he didn't have the energy to pick them back up again. There were more important things to focus on, like the heartbeat he could hear through closed doors ever so faintly. As long as it kept beating Peter would be strong he vowed.

A heavy hand settled on his shoulder making him flinch.

The motion was familiar but not the person it had come from. The feeling of the hand on his skin was all _wrong,_ the fingers not calloused enough to belong to the person he wanted – _needed_ – right now. The wrong man settled down in one of the cushioned chairs and kept looking at him with a worried frown. It was a wrong sigh he let out and the voice was wrong, too.

 _Wrongwrongwrong._

"You're still in your suit."

The teenager heard the silent suggestion that swung in the statement but the mere thought of leaving left a bitter taste in his mouth and made his heart clench painfully in his chest, so he simply nodded and continued fidgeting with the mask in his hands and shuffling his upper body until his shoulder was free of the man's touch.

 _Wrong._

Rhodey let his hand slid down his arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake that were covered by the red and blue suit. He didn't move it, though, simply let it drop down into his own lap again. "Have you called your aunt?"

He gave a sharp nod. "I told her I'll be staying here," he felt compelled to add, his tone challenging the other superhero to object, to tell him off. He was surprised when the older man simply cocked his head to the side and continued to watch him intently. "I just –" He crumbled a little under the patient gaze. "I just can't leave him, you know?"

"I know."

Peter met his gaze again and for the first time he realized just how tired Rhodey looked. Almost as tired as Peter felt himself.

His entire body was tense and the worry seemed permanently etched into the wrinkles on his face. He recognized the look, knew exactly what it felt like. Rhodey really did understand. He figured he must have spent most of his life worrying about Tony and the thought made the young vigilante feel nauseous.

"But we can't really do anything for him right now," Rhodey told him matter-of-factly, voice calm and collected and gentle. "And I know for a fact that they won't let you into his room looking as filthy as you do. Something about open wounds and dirt, hygiene they call it, I think." He cracked a smile but it seemed forced at best. Still, Peter appreciated it.

He just really didn't want to go.

Rhodey sensed that and with a motion too quickly for his tired brain to keep up with, he pulled something out from – from where exactly? Behind his back? The chair beside him? Did it matter?

A pile of clothes landed in his arms and instinctively he grabbed to hold them. His favorite pajama pants and one of his science pun t-shirts and a dark red hoodie he had never seen before. It was soft. He frowned but before he could open his mouth to ask, Rhodey explained.

"It's Tony's. Was his favorite back in the day. He's rarely wearing it outside anymore but I'm pretty sure he still wears it at home. I thought you would appreciate it."

He did. Curling his hand around the soft fabric, he felt gratitude spread in his chest, fuzzy and slowly melting the fear that had taken his heart hostage.

"He's gonna be okay, right?" he croaked. Of course he'd already asked that and the doctor had reassured him but he needed to hear it from someone who was just as scared as he was, just as shaken because they knew what was at stake.

"Of course he is," Rhodey scoffed fondly, and his wet eyes almost didn't betray his light tone, "You know how it is, bad weeds grow tall."

Something similar to a laugh slipped passed his dry lips before he conceded with a huff. "Fine," he said, "But F.R.I.D.A.Y. is gonna call me the second there are any news whatsoever."

When he pushed himself up from the chair he felt a lot older than sixteen with all his joints creaking and cracking from having been curled up in one position for too long. His heart, too, felt older than it had just this morning.

As much as he hated being away from the action, if you could call the deserted waiting room that, he had to admit that the shower did wonders on his tense shoulders. The dried tear tracks on his cheeks were slowly fading when he let the hot water pour over his face. He just had to keep his mind busy because the second he didn't, he was back _there_ and he was holding on to Tony's lifeless body and he couldn't stand picturing the man like that.

Tony was vibrant. Always with a sarcastic quip on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes when they met Peter's. He was strong and smart and _alive_. He was a god damn superhero.

Peter blinked the tears away that burned in his eyes and mixed with the water until he couldn't tell which was which anymore.

* * *

 _"Great job, underoos. One down, one to go," Tony's voice sounded through the comm and he grinned at the praise as he shot out a web at the Ironman suit that was flying past him. As soon as the web attached itself to the armor he felt the strain on his shoulder when his self-designed material stretched and then he already took off, tagging along on the flight._

 _He loved flying. Loved the exhilarating feeling of his heart dropping to his stomach. He knew without the shadow of a doubt that he was safe here. He was with Tony after all._

 _"Kids these days," he heard his mentor mutter in mock annoyance, "Too lazy to web their own way down to the fight."_

 _"Gotta keep you on your toes, don't I?" he quipped back before shooting out another web and leaving the billionaire's side to land on the side of a nearby building gracefully. "What's the plan, Mister Stark?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at the huge thing (honestly, he wasn't sure as what to classify the weird metallic body that was currently out for their blood)._

 _That's the moment War Machine joined them, flying up in to hover next to Iron-Man, blasters out and ready to, well, blast. "We're gonna kick some ass is what we're gonna do."_

 _The last thing he heard before Rhodey started firing was Tony's carefree laughter in his ear._

* * *

He had just stepped out of the shower when F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him that Tony was out of surgery. It didn't take him more than three minutes until he was back in the med bay, pants on the wrong way around and hoodie barely pulled over his head.

Looking like the mess he felt, wet curls hanging in his face and almost tripping over his feet, he barreled into the room and – stopped and stared.

The sight that greeted him felt like a punch to the stomach and knocked the air out of his lungs, making him stumble.

Tony seemed to be swallowed up by the big bed, tubes sticking out of various parts of his body. He took a tentative step closer but not too close, too scared to accidentally touch some of the wires and mess something important up.

"He's –" he stammered, "Is he –?"

"He's fine." Rhodey's voice was gentle but firm, demanding attention that Peter didn't have to spare. His gaze seemed permanently stuck on the slight rise and fall of his mentor's chest.

 _Breathing meant alive. They could work with alive. An alive Tony would fight his way back to them._

Rhodey stood up from the chair next to the bed, slowly approaching Peter until he was right beside him. Again, the hand settled on his shoulder, pulling him back from the spiraling thoughts in his mind, grounding him in the moment.

Peter looked up, Rhodey's face blurry through the veil of tears that he couldn't force back. "I should've – I should've done _something_."

"You know as well as I do that there was nothing you could've done."

Deep down he knew that he should have found a way.

"He knew what he was doing and he knew the consequences but, most importantly, he knew what would happen if he didn't act."

* * *

 _"Well, this is very not good."_

 _"You don't say, platypus." Tony's eye roll was audible over the comms and if Peter hadn't been so focused on the thing they were fighting getting ready to fire a blast of_ something very not good _into a nearby skyscraper he might have even cracked a smile. As it was, he was otherwise preoccupied._

 _He was so far out of his wheel house right now, he realized, when he swung to another building closer to the two other heroes. "What are we gonna do, Mister Stark?" Because surely his mentor knew what to do. He always knew what to do._

 _"About that –"_

 _It all happened so fast that Peter barely had time to process Rhodey's scream in his ear before Tony had flown in the way of the monster, putting himself between the monster and its target and –_

 _When the green blast hit the arc reactor Peter's heart plummeted._

 _Hope flared in his chest when Iron- Man somehow reversed the fire power, hitting the alien being that burst into a million pieces. But then he didn't reply and simply fell._

 _He fell and fell and fell and then he stopped._

* * *

Once Rhodey had left it took him a while until he dared to move closer to the bed.

Tony looked so fragile, _broken_ , and as much as he couldn't bear to see him like that, Peter found that he was incapable of averting his eyes. Underneath all the ugly bruises he was still so undeniably alive and that was all that mattered, all he let himself focus on to keep his mind from spiraling.

Eventually he settled into the seat Rhodey had vacated and gingerly took hold of his mentor's hand, careful to avoid any and all wires he was attached to but especially the perfusion pump supplying him with a steady stream of pain meds. He seemed to need it.

The older man's face was calm, the anesthesia working its magic in relaxing his muscles and keeping the pain at bay. It seemed wrong, though, to see the expressive face of Tony Stark so devoid of any emotion and tension. Only a few wrinkles remained, especially the frowny ones but Peter could make out the crow's feet and lines around his mouth, too, that told a story of an easier time with laughter and movie nights instead of bloody hands and hospital beds.

The monitor was showing him the ECG recording and he let the steady beeping lull his unsettled thoughts until he was calm enough to really take in the injuries of the man that made up half of his small make-shift family.

The oxygen mask on the billionaire's face was fogged with his breaths ( _he was breathing_ ) but it seemed to be working because the pulse oximeter on his left hand recorded an oxygen saturation of 100 percent.

Peter let out a small breath.

His blood pressure was steady, albeit a little low with 110 to 60 but so much better than when –

The stiff neck Tony was wearing looked uncomfortable but he didn't seem to mind so Peter tried to be okay with how weirdly rigid and unmovable it made the man look.

His eyes flickered over the case report on the nightstand.

 **Fracture of both anterior and posterior arch of C1**

 **Type III fracture of C2, stable, no indication for surgical treatment.**

 _Stable_. He held onto that when he skimmed over the rest of the text.

 **Type II spleen rupture**

 **Fractured 4th, 5th left and 2nd right rib; 3rd rib broken bilaterally after CPR by first responder –**

* * *

 _Peter reached him as soon as he could but it was still too late. Tony wasn't moving, wasn't responding, wasn't –_

 _"Karen," he choked out, crawling to the lifeless armor on hands and knees, "Can you get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to open the suit?"_

 _Not a second later the pieces of the suit retracted, revealing his mentor's beaten form. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. detected fractures of the upper cervical spine. It is recommend to move the patient's neck as little as possible to not risk severing the spinal cord."_

 _"Then why didn't she just keep the armor on?" he spit out, thoughts racing and suited hand pressed against his masked mouth. He couldn't look at this, he couldn't breathe through this. He couldn't –_

 _"Mister Stark is in immediate need of CPR."_

 _No._

 _He couldn't do that._

 _"Mister Rhodes!" he managed to call out to the superhero still flying through the air to keep the collateral damage as low as possible, "You need to –"_

 _The commanding voice that replied was tense and not at all reminiscent of the playful teasing just minutes earlier. "I can't, Pete. You gotta do it. You know how to do CPR, right?"_

 _Of course he knew CPR. He knew the steps, knew the moves but –_

 _"I'm – I'm too strong," he whispered even as he pulled up his mask halfway and started kneeling at his mentor's head to get a better angle, "I can't control my strength – I'm gonna – I could kill him!"_

 _Still, he started pressing down._

 _When he heard the first rib crack, Peter cried out in pain but didn't stop. He bent down, tilting the man's head as carefully as he could and breathed for him twice before continuing to press down on his ribcage._

 _Another crack. A broken rib. And Peter couldn't see through the tears that were running down his cheeks and he couldn't breathe but he struggled through the panic sealing his lungs because Tony needed him to breathe for him._

 _"Heartbeat detected."_

* * *

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

His heart was still beating. It was still pumping blood into his circulation, was still supplying his cells with oxygen and was still keeping him alive. It was a steady heartbeat and it felt strong when it pulsated against Peter's fingers that were pressed to his mentor's wrist.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

He could hear it, too. If he concentrated hard enough he could make out not only the thud but also the blood streaming through ventricle and atrium. He heard the valves open and close and the soft swoosh when the blood fell back against closed valves.

Still, he couldn't forget the utter silence that had greeted him earlier. The memory of holding the lifeless man seemed to have been permanently etched into his brain. An image so horribly familiar that it made him feel sick and scared as if he was the small little boy again, begging for help.

 _Please don't leave me._

Peter was moving before he had consciously formed the thought and it made him stop in his tracks. Was he allowed to? The doctor had said to watch out for the wires and to be careful with his ribs and neck. But maybe if he was extra cautious it would be okay?

Almost in slow motion he pushed the cables and tubes aside carefully and moved to sit on the bed. Tony was laying a little more to the left side of the bed and so the teenager very deliberately draped himself on his mentor's right side until he was curled around the man without jostling him too much.

He wound his arm around his head gingerly and dropped his face to rest in the sweaty mob of hair. He breathed in the familiar scent that he could make out beneath all the dust and dirt and blood and sweat. He breathed in Tony and, ever so slowly, he started to relax.

* * *

 _"ETA 3 minutes."_

 _Three more minutes of Peter holding on to his mentor's head, too scared to move, too scared to do much of anything but let his body shake with silent sobs and keep listening for that heartbeat that was still fluttering in his chest much too weakly for his taste._

 _"It's gonna be okay." For a lack of better option he started talking to the unresponsive man whose head was resting on his thighs and who didn't look like he was ever going to wake up again. But his heart was beating so he was going to wake up. He_ had _to wake up._

 _"F.R.I.D.A.Y. could probably fly you home in the suit but we don't wanna risk –" severing your spinal cord " – it, so we're waiting for the ambulance. It should be here any minute now. You're gonna be fine, right? I mean, you always said you'd probably die of something stupid like tripping over Dum-E not on the battlefield. You promised not to die before my wedding."_

 _It was stupid and childish yet he couldn't help but beg._

 _"You can't die. You were gonna teach me how to build an arch reactor and you promised to watch the new Star Wars movie with me the second it comes out. We already planned our costumes, remember?"_

 _Suddenly the Kylo Ren and Han Solo dress up they had planned seemed so inconsequential and trivial. He could've spend the time arguing about Kylo's true feelings telling his mentor how much he appreciated him. He should've told him he loved him instead of disagreeing over his breakfast choices. He should've held on to him more when he had the chance. He should've –_

 _He would, he vowed silently, he would tell him._

* * *

"I love you," he whispered, the words he had never directed at him before oddly familiar on his tongue. "Just, please wake up so I can tell you in person." Before he thought better of it he leaned forward, pressed a gentle kiss to Tony's forehead and rested his own against it.

Now that he was surrounded by the warmth of his – his _person_ and could feel his chest moving with every breath and could hear his heart beating steadily he realized just how tired he was. He could rest for a bit, right? Tony surely wouldn't mind and he would tell the nurse where to shove it should she jostle Peter… yeah… he'd just rest his eyes a little. Just for a few minutes.

His eyes slowly started to drop close, succumbing to the exhaustion that seemed to have settled deep into his bones.

Of course Tony took that moment to blink blearily, almost making Peter jolt in surprise.

"Love ya, too, kiddo," he slurred, not really focusing on anything in particular, "Should know that."

And, without another word, the older man wrapped his right arm more firmly around his protégé and fell right back asleep with a soft snore.

Tony spent almost a week in his bed in med bay until the doctors were certain he would be able to move his neck without danger of becoming paraplegic and Peter came to see him every day, spending most of his time in the small, barren room. He would bring his homework after school and once he was done with it they would watch another movie or start on another TV show. Sometimes Rhodey or Pepper or May would join them and bring them a home cooked dinner. Sometimes they just munched on the pizzas F.R.I.D.A.Y. ordered.

Sometimes Peter would fall asleep curled around Tony and sometimes May would threaten him with grounding if he didn't come back home to sleep in his own bed at some point but _every time_ , before he left, Peter would lean down to Tony and press a kiss to his forehead gently. He would tell him he loved him and his mentor would say it back.

He never would have to be scared of not having said enough when he still had the time ever again.


	12. You're The Pokes That I've Always Needed

It was fun at first.

Mister Stark moving more of his work to the actual R&D labs meant Peter got to hang out with all the other crazy smart kids with an actual internship at Stark Industries which had him thriving. He loved science and he loved tinkering with Tony in his personal lab but out here? There were people who wanted to be his friend apart from Ned, not because he knew the Tony Stark but because they thought he, Peter Parker, was cool.

Screwing around with bots and manufacturing some strong chemical glue for medical purposes (that may or may not have been inspired by his own webbing) was considered cool here which, honestly, that was a first.

Peter had never once in his life been considered cool by anyone other than Ned and that had always been enough. It would always be enough, too. It's just - he had more than one friend, his aunt and an eccentric superhero billionaire mentor in his corner now and that feeling of belonging somewhere was incredible.

Until suddenly it wasn't.

Peter hadn't quite realized that Mister Stark sharing his lab also meant, well, sharing Mister Stark.

They had their desks next to each other, of course, and Peter was officially his personal intern (and unofficially so much more) but they weren't really alone anymore.

That meant significantly less physical contact (it was him who begged Mister Stark not to embarrass him in front of everyone else so that was on him, really) and no private talks.

After work was a different story altogether when they would ride up the elevator to the penthouse and Mister Stark ruffled his hair and they'd both collapse onto the couch to watch a movie together. None of the other interns got to have that and Peter wasn't too shy to admit to himself that he was a little smug about it.

So, it was fine that his mentor wasn't as openly affectionate when they were in R&D. Totally fine.

But then one day a guy, just three years older than Peter called Marc, made him his smoothie because Peter was running late after school and when he got in they were conversing easily and Mister Stark was sipping his drink that was in a different cup than the Spider-Man themed one Peter usually chose for him and he looked happy and content and only interrupted his talk briefly to greet him with a hair ruffle.

No _"How was your day, squirt?",_ no " _I've been wondering when you'd get here_ ", no nothing. It was fine, though, because he got that soft smile that was reserved for him and Mister Stark wasn't obligated to give him this full attention all the time anyway. He was a free man and of course he would want to talk to the people in his lab. He was a futurist, a visionary and, above all, a team player who valued other's input.

Only when Lizzie figured out a new update for the Stark Phone Mister Stark grinned at her and high fived her with a "Great job, kid." And that was _Peter's_ title.

It was ridiculous.

He always told the man how much he hated being called kid and now he had appropriated it as his title? Laughable, ludicrous even. To Mister Stark they were all kids, so what right did Peter have to monopolize a random three letter word?

It was just embarrassing, that was all, looking up every time he heard the nickname and seeing it, coupled with a proud grin, directed at someone else.

But Peter wasn't a malicious boy. He really wasn't. He knew how much the genius' praise meant to every single one of them because he'd been in their shoes and getting acknowledged by their idol was fantastic. They deserved it. He was happy for them, he was.

Just….

Sometimes the nagging voices in his head wouldn't stop. They would tell him how he wasn't anything special, how Mister Stark could've taken anyone of them in had they been Spider-Man and then they'd be hanging out in his penthouse and they'd get to cuddle up to him during movie nights. Someone else would've gotten matching science pun t-shirts and the soothing calls when he woke up from nightmares yet again.

He was Spider-Man - that was all the difference between him and everyone else in the lab and it sucked a little bit to see the man who he had started seeing as more than a mentor and idol and superhero. The man who was filling that empty space in Peter's heart where the loss of first his dad and then his uncle had sat ever since he could remember. To see that man act encouraging and proud and soft and undeniably parental to other people as well.

Mister Stark liked taking care of people, he liked shaping the future and helping smart guys achieve their goals. It was fine. He just had to keep telling himself that.

It was fine. _Finefinefinefi_ _–_

"Wanna tell me what's gotten your panties in a twist, kid?"

That word again. That endearment that wasn't his anymore. The traitor.

He glared, resentment bubbling over. "Don't call me that."

Mister Stark raised an eyebrow at him, head cocked to the side as if to analyze him, to gaze right into Peter's soul.

He didn't want that.

"What?" he snapped then sighed because acting like a petulant child certainly wasn't the way to go to show his mentor he was worth mentoring. "Sorry. I'm just. I don't know – weird."

At his words Tony's whole posture seemed to melt. Where he had been scrutinizing understanding dawned and a softness covered his features that most people wouldn't associate with Ironman.

Not Peter, though. For him this was familiar. This was the Tony he knew would always be there to catch him, literally as well as metaphorically. The person who, just like May and Ned, always had an open ear and a free shoulder to cry on whenever he came barreling in with too many emotions in his heart to keep them in.

And he had been an idiot and an asshole for the better part of two weeks, all because of his own stupid insecurities and he knew his deflecting of inside jokes and physical contact had hurt the man and he never wanted to hurt Mister Stark. He had promised himself he wouldn't ever hurt him and -

Only when Tony scooted closer, put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into his side did he realize he was shaking and he gave way to the burning in his eyes the second his face was buried into the soft fabric of Tony's shirt and his nose was filled with the calming scent of his mentor.

"Shh," the man whispered, "it's alright, you're alright. I've got you." All the while his hand kept rubbing circles into Peter's back with just the right amount of pressure to ground him in the moment.

He hated being so weak, hated being so dependent on someone else to tell him it would all be okay but damn him if it didn't feel good.

"Promise?" he sniffled when the body shaking sobs had died down and he could finally breathe again and embarrassment hadn't quite settled into his bones yet.

"Always."

He sounded so certain, so sure beyond the shadow of a doubt that it would be okay and Peter couldn't help but believe him.

"Now," Tony cleared his throat, hand traveling up to cup the teenager's neck ever so gently, "want to tell me what's gotten you so on edge? I might be able to help."

"No," Peter shook his head and buried deeper into the embrace, "it's stupid anyway. And it's fine, really, just my own overthinking and stuff."

Figured that that wouldn't be enough to soothe the man for whom the term overprotective had been invented.

"Is it about the other interns? Is someone bothering you?"

"No," he squeaked then tried to keep his voice even as he repeated, "no. Like I said, it's stupid."

Tony hummed and that was never a good sign because it meant he was thinking and contrary to popular belief Tony Stark's emotional intelligence was perceptive enough to pick up on the smallest things when he really put his mind to it. Or maybe that was just in relation to Peter.

"Is it about moving the lab to R&D?"

He sighed, knowing that he was fighting a lost battle but not quite ready to give up yet so he shrugged.

Someone, May probably, had apparently taught the billionaire that a shrug usually meant "yes, but I'd really rather it didn't" because it didn't take him much longer to piece together Peter's deepest fear.

"You're scared I'm replacing you with some of the other interns and you're wondering what on earth makes you so special."

There was a pause in which Peter could've denied or confessed it all but he did neither. He stayed quiet and at some point Tony broke the silence again.

"The thing is, buddy-"

Peter's heart both soared and broke at the conscious use of a different nickname.

"The thing is that I don't care how smart everyone else is or how many new things they invent. That's great, they're happy and that's good for SI and I'm happy they get to find themselves in science and that I could help them by providing the resources. It's beneficial for both sides, convenient."

"But you? You're my kid. And the whole superheroing and sciencing might've been what brought us together in the first place but if you were to take an interest in any other field then I'd move heaven and hell to give you everything I can to achieve your goals no matter how far out of my wheelhouse I am. You're not convenient, Peter. You're not supposed to be, I don't want you to be. I want you to figure out what and who you want to become. I want to be there every step of the way, cheering you on from the sidelines and picking you up should you ever fall."

"But why- why me?" he asked, voice small and scared.

There was a pause that almost felt heavy, like they breathed out more emotions with every exhale, making the air thick with them. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. It was familiar, revelatory even.

"Do you believe in fate, Pete? Because I do. I might not like the circumstances that brought us together but I'm forever going to be grateful that they did. When I went to Queens to pick up a superhero I didn't imagine I'd get to meet such a bright eyed, pure intentioned person. Someone who challenged the way I see the world from the very first day. Someone inherently good and perfect. What do they say? Came for Spider-Man, stayed for Peter Parker."

Despite everything he let out a huff at the attempt of a joke, reveling in the way Mister Stark's body moved when his did. Like they were one heart, supposed to act as a single unit.

"What's special about you, Peter, is everything. From the animate way you watch movies, over the ridiculous amount of time you spend dissecting your food and your smarts down to your views and beliefs and kindness."

"I love you, kid. Nothing anyone is ever going to do will be able to measure up to that."

 **A/N** : I am not happy with this but I'm also not gonna change anything about it anymore. So, have it! Enjoy x


	13. All My Broken Pieces

**A/N:** I promise I'll reply to all your kind words this week! I've got my last exam on Thursday and then this crazy semester will finally be over. Meanwhile have this. Something I've worked on for a few months, usually when I felt pretty shit and finished today because my brain cannot do with any more pharmacology. I hope you enjoy this, I really loved writing it. It's my personal head canon that Tony used to be pretty touch starved which is just one of the worst things about going to university, tbh.

Anyway. Enjoy! Feedback is appreciated x

* * *

Tony had always craved touch.

When he was a toddler, the only way for Maria and Jarvis to calm him down or get him to sleep was always through touch.

Maria would hug him and sing him a lullaby, lips so close to his ear that he felt her warm breath on his skin and only then, when he was certain that his mother was there with him, would he relent and close his eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

Jarvis would calm the body shaking sobs and soul splitting screams he tried to bury in his pillow by running a warm hand up and down his spine, whispering soothing words that Tony never really picked up on.

It was always the touch of a person he trusted that kept him from falling apart any further. It was the touch that was his crutch when he couldn't stand back up on his own. Touch was the glue that held all of his broken pieces together even when he himself had given up on repairing the damage because it seemed futile.

* * *

When he meets Rhodey he has long since come to accept that needing someone else's touch is a weakness. A weakness that he can't afford if he wants to make his father proud.

 _Stark men are made of iron._

It's etched into his heart, the incision aching with every beat, and he feels his father's word in his lungs with every breath he takes. Like acid the words dissolve him from the inside, battling the very core of who he is – _was_.

He's 15 and he's by far the youngest student on the MIT campus.

Everything and _everyone_ around him feels so much bigger than he is, than what he feels like, but he's used to feeling small and worthless so he squares his shoulders and he puts on the persona that has gotten him through his one dreadful year of high school. He's smart, he's sassy and he doesn't mince his words. He lets everyone know exactly who he is.

It doesn't take him more than two weeks to troop together a group of people who _love_ hanging out with Howard Stark's son. (It just happens to be Tony, he knows that.)

It takes him three parties to get his reputation as a player. (Because sex, he was taught, is the only physical connection that is about control not weakness and he can't shut down the last pathetic part of him that still craves human contact.)

James Rhodes is not a player. He shows up to some parties, he socializes easily and is an all-around all-liked person. He speaks his mind but he does so in a polite way, inviting discussion and discourse as long as it's on-topic und respectful. He doesn't let frustration and anger cloud his judgement. He's resilient in his work and his intelligence is quiet and steady.

In short, he's everything Tony is not and normally their paths would never have crossed.

Maybe it's fate that decides that they should meet. Maybe it's just dumb luck. Whatever it is, Tony is grateful they do.

When they do, Tony is running on four hours of sleep in just as many days and he's shaking like a leaf. His hands are trying to connect the last few wires on his robot but they're too jittery to perform the delicate action and he ends up electrocuting himself. Just for a moment, though, and no one else in the big lab seems to notice so he just keeps going like he always does.

That is until a heavy hand settles on his shoulder, making him flinch so hard he drops both the unfinished robot and his tools. Every little fiber in him is screaming alarm. Sudden touches can only ever mean pain and he is too tired to deal with any more of that right now, too hollow to put up his mask.

Somehow he manages to keep himself from yelping but when he turns and his eyes land on the other boy who's standing way too close for comfort, his fear morphs into anger. (Anger, Howard taught him, demands respect and installs fear in his opponent.)

"What the actual fuck?" he exclaims. What started as a deep manly curse ends in a high-pitched screech, informing the other kid of just how young he actually is. Tony fucking hates puberty.

"Sorry." The other boy backs up immediately, brown eyes open and free of any trace of malice.

It doesn't mean it isn't there, just means he hides it well, Tony thinks.

"I didn't mean to startle you. Just wanted to let you know that they're closing up the labs in about twenty minutes."

Tony nods and he thinks, hopes, that this is it. That the other boy just came to tell him that and that he is going to leave now. But these eyes – they stare right into his soul and it makes him feel lacking because he knows what they'll find, he knows what everyone has always found so far. No one has stayed after all.

"What are you working on?" the older boy asks. He seems truly interested and it's confusing Tony. No one is ever interested in what he's doing. Not really anyway.

He frowns. "What? So you can make fun of me?" And damn it if this doesn't sound absolutely pathetic.

"No, of course not." The boy seems honestly insulted at the accusation. (Good, maybe he'll leave before he can hurt him.) "It just looks really cool. Is that a robot?"

Tony shrugs, giving up on trying to get him to leave in favor of trying to finish his work before the lab closes. "He's supposed to be one." For some reason the extra set of eyes makes him move more carefully and, without any more incidents, he manages to finish connecting all the wires.

He waits. Something is supposed to happen. Or has he messed this up, too? Is he really not capable of doing anything right at all?

Suddenly the machine makes a sad _beep-boop_ , moving its claw once, twice, three times before it short circuits and dies down with a gurgling noise.

Pathetic.

And Tony? He's this close to a mental breakdown and he knows he can't succumb to it here because no one is allowed to see Howard Stark's son cry. Least of all an older guy from MIT, smart and on the lower range of popular, who's going to tell everyone about how much of a scalawag he is.

 _Stark men are made of iron._

But Tony isn't.

His body is shaking with sleep-deprivation, too much caffeine and shame when he picks up the useless robot that he has already internally labeled Dum-E. He hoped that Dum-E would show his father that even dummies like him can be useful sometimes but it seems like his old man was right. Like he always is. Tony truly is good for nothing.

A dummy who builds dummies who aren't good for anything either.

"That was pretty impressive," the other boy interrupts his inner monologue and Tony fails to find the sarcasm in his voice but maybe he just can't even read people anymore, so he glares at him. He doesn't seem to care about it too much, though, and reaches out to inspect the inner workings of the robot with gentle, steady hands.

His arm is resting lightly against Tony's and he doesn't dare to move, mind hyper-focused on the contact. The stranger is warm and soft and real and Tony's heart aches suddenly with how much he misses his mother's hugs. So he doesn't pull away and tries to shift his focus a little until he can tune into what's apparently a conversation now.

"I think if you took a little time to actually sleep this could end up being really useful," he tells him with a small smile, "I'm actually working on an assignment about the most basic form of artificial intelligence. What do you say? We could put your heads together over lunch tomorrow?"

Tony is too stunned at how _nice_ he is being treated to tell him to go fuck himself so he simply nods. The other boy grins, seemingly happy about their date.

"Great, then tomorrow at Dan's Diner around noon? My treat."

"You do know I'm Tony Stark, right?" He frowns then at the weirdly likeable boy who's clad in a loosely fitting t-shirt that has seen better days and worn shoes that are distinctly lacking any real sole at this point and who's offering to pay for his meal.

The boy cocks an eyebrow and shrugs. "And I'm James," he tells him matter-of-factly, "James Rhodes, not Bond."

"That's a boring name," he can't stop himself from saying, cringing inwardly at his own bluntness, even as he shakes the extended hand. "There's no cool nickname for James. I'll call you Rhodey."

He rolls his eyes but they seem to twinkle at the nickname and his voice is pleasantly teasing when he answers. "Whatever you say, Tones."

Maybe it's the sleep-deprivation or the looming of despair at yet another failed project. Maybe it's because that's the first casual conversation he's had in weeks and he's been longing for another person to talk to. Or maybe it's because for some inexplicable reason James Rhodes' company makes him feel safe.

But for the first time since leaving Jarvis and his mother behind he laughs, a deep-belly laugh that shakes his whole body up and that warms his chest with something other than dreed.

They end up working on Dum-E for a little over two weeks and when they're finally finished he can't talk but he's capable of understanding basic voice commands and even answers in _beep-boop_ 's that seem to convey emotions such as sadness, cheerfulness and anger. (Or maybe they're imagining that. They have barely slept in days.)

The best thing about getting his robot to work isn't the fact that they prove Dum-E to be actually useful but the way Rhodey becomes the first person in a long time he feels truly comfortable with.

Rhodey, ever so perceptive, figures out Tony's bivalent relationship with touches in a matter of days and he's always careful not to crowd him, backing off when Tony needs it, but there when a gentle touch is all he needs to not fall apart.

After finishing Dum-E his new friend leans forward carefully, holding his gaze as if asking for permission, before he engulfs him in a tight hug. And Tony realizes, as he lets himself rest against the older boy's chest and relaxes in his friend's arms that this is one of the most peaceful moments in his life. It gives him hope for the future that, for once, has nothing to do with being the heir of Stark Industries.

And he vows to himself that he won't ever give up on Dum-E just like Rhodey, for some indiscernible reason, never gave up on him.

* * *

"Tony! Stop for a second, please!"

Her raised voice catches him off guard even though it shouldn't have. He has seen this coming, has prepared for it. Still, when he lowers the spatula his entire body has gone rigid and it's all he can do to stare at the sizzling pieces of bacon in the pan. The sound feels weirdly out of place in the otherwise quiet room and he can only watch them in crude fascination, certain that in a couple of minutes they'd be burned and he'd have to throw them away but not moving to change the setting on the stove.

It's like waiting for a train wreck you know is going to happen. It's an apt description of his life, he figures.

Pepper's voice is soft again and he feels more than hears her step closer to the kitchen counter he's hiding behind. He can picture the way her long hair falls over her shoulders in artistic waves and he knows that there is a frown on her forehead, a tiny wrinkle sitting right between her eyebrows. He knows the look in her eyes, the blue eyes that are deeper than the ocean, similarly infinite and so much more beautiful.

"Can you turn around for me?" she asks, gently and probing but not demanding. Leave it to Pepper, the most demanding woman he has ever met, to be the first to let him decide whether to look at her or not.

He's sure she knows how much he hates being yelled at and he can't help but feel thankful for her thoughtfulness. It makes it a little easier for him to release the death grip is hand has on the wooden spatula. Olive wood, he thinks absentmindedly, his mother always liked the olive wood spatulas, said they reminded her of home.

His skin is still crawling with barely veiled anxiety but he manages to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

He finds the tiny remains of his shattered masks somewhere deep inside him and it's enough to make him shake his head.

"Nope. Don't think I can," he says, voice light and cheerful and oh-so-fake. "Gotta watch that bacon before I burn down the house again, right? You told me yourself that that's not a very responsible thing to do and I –"

Suddenly her hand comes into focus, delicate fingers turning down the stove before settling on the countertop.

Again, her voice is so sweet that it runs down his back like honey. It's warm and a little sad and it makes his anxiety spike. His heart is thumping so loudly in his chest, he's sure she hears it too because she sighs very quietly and then her hand is gone from his sight and he thought he would feel better but he doesn't. He feels worse. As if she's already gone.

"Pep –" he all but whispers because he doesn't know what else to say, how else to explain the fact that he slipped out of bed and left her all on her own after they spent the night together.

Oh god. They spent the night together. They –

When her voice comes back it's accompanied by a feather-light touch on his wrist. No force, just a question.

"Tony," she starts and he squeezes his eyes shut because he doesn't want to hear it, can't stomach listening to it but also can't stop himself wanting more of that angle-like voice. "Why won't you look at me?"

He feels her slender fingers run over his palm and toy with his. Hers are warm and soft where his are cold and calloused. They make a good pair, he thinks, and before he can stop himself he intertwines his fingers with hers and pulls her marginally closer.

"Because," he whispers, raising their joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to the back of hers, "Because then you'd see me and you'd find that I'm lacking and I'd just rather not do that today." Or any day, really.

"I've already seen you," she answers and he can hear the smile in her voice, would love to see it on her lips but is too scared to move.

Tony shakes his head but doesn't release her hand. As if he could make her stay if he just held on tightly enough. "Not like this, you haven't."

He's not sure anyone has ever seen him like this. Hell, he's not even sure he's ever been like this – all butterflies-in-stomach and sweaty palms.

It's love, he thinks. But he's not sure because he's never felt it before, doesn't know how it's supposed to feel like and if people like him even get to experience something so sacred. If he had to describe it, though, he'd say he's in love. It's the scariest thing he has ever felt in his life.

It's scarier than terrorists in a cave, scarier than falling to his death and scarier, even, than his old man's raised voice and the smell of whiskey hanging in the air.

"Yes, I have," she replies easily, in the no-nonsense voice that only Pepper Potts can ever really pull off, and tugs on his hand. "Look at me, please. I promise I won't run."

Those were the exact words he has wanted to hear, still he can't help but question their sincerity. After all, who did stick around after seeing him? Only Rhodey so far. And Pepper but –

He turns around and meets her eyes and she just holds his gaze.

The first thing he notices is the sleepy sand in the corner of her eyes. Dried rheum – a combination of mucin, dust, blood cells and skin cells – entirely gross if it would be anyone else but this is _Pepper_ and he marvels at the sight.

She has never been this raw in his company and he wants to cherish it and tell her how beautiful she looks without make-up on. He wants to tell her about the sun light reflecting in her eyes and how her freckles are like a treasure map. He doesn't say any of that, though.

They just look at each other.

It's Pepper who moves first. (Of course she is. That woman is fearless and he's a mess.)

Very gently she pulls her hand out of his grasp and takes a step closer before he can complain about the loss of warmth. She raises her hands, telegraphing every movement as if she knows that he flinches when someone raises their hand too suddenly (she probably does), and settles them on his cheeks.

He leans into the comfort she's providing with her thumbs rubbing circles into his skin. He lets himself relish in the warmth her touch is offering and his free hand settles on her hip, just a few centimeters over the hem of his shirt that she's wearing.

"I'm a mess," he tells her, eyes closed and she is so close he feels her body vibrate with soft chuckles and her hot breath is tickling his chin.

"I know," she answers and without having to look he knows that she's grinning up at him in a way that makes the dimples on her cheek stand out. "But I've known that before."

"I'm going to mess up. I'm not good at – this." He's not sure why he is trying to make her turn away but he knows that he has to be open if this can have any chance of working out. God, he wants it to work out so badly.

Her reply is instant and makes his eyes fly open. "Well, then you apologize and work on making it better the next time around. You'll improve. We both will. It's what people do in a relationship."

Again she meets his gaze warmly and without hesitation, a smile curving her lips upwards just the tiniest bit.

It's in that moment that his love for her overwhelms him. It comes crashing down like a wave of adoration and appreciation and devotion and for a second he's stumbling until he regains his balance and matches her smile with his.

"I wouldn't know what people do in a relationship, Ms. Potts." He grins down at her cheekily and a weight falls off his chest when she starts laughing loudly.

"Believe me, I know," she smirks and leans up to press a lingering kiss to his lips, "But I think I'm up to the challenge, Mr. Stark."

Her hands are still resting on his face and it feels like they have always been there, as if this is supposed to be. As if they were meant to be.

It takes them a lot of effort and ups and downs but Pepper's touch slowly glues all his broken pieces back together, blowing kisses to the faint scars that remain.

* * *

When he hears the blood rushing in his ears and feels his heart beat violently in his chest out of nowhere, he stops mid-movement. Screwdriver in hand with his body bent over the wiring of the suit he's working on he tries to take a deep breath just to see if he can.

It works surprisingly well but the sensation of his body shaking with every beat of his heart - like it's a wrecking ball not a pump - is still there and while it's nothing entirely new he really doesn't enjoy the feeling of his ribcage threatening to tear open with every _thump_ of the vital organ.

Quietly he sets down the tool and moves his right hand to rest over his sternum, right above the scar where his arc reactor used to sit. The feeling of skin on skin and the light pressure he puts on his thorax help ground him only marginally and his stupid heartrate is hell bent on accelerating no matter how evenly he breathes which is just annoying.

His left hand comes up, fingers routinely grabbing his radial pulse point as he tries to will his heart to slow down. The moves have become instinctually over the years. Having had shrapnel mere millimeters from one of the few things he quite literally can't live without has made him hyperaware of everything that might be going wonky in his chest.

It's that hyper-fixation that makes even the smallest palpitation seem like a coronary, complete with mortal agony and phantom pain spreading into his left arm until his pinky starts cramping.

 _Three counts in, five counts out._

He coaches himself to breathe evenly. The chances of this actually being a heart attack are slim to none. His doctor had him checked out just three days ago. As the doc would say: his fear is understandable but unnecessary. It's fine. Just a random spike of anxiety that doesn't mean anything.

 _Three in. Five out._

 _One, Two, Three._

 _One, Two, Three, Four, Five._

 _Again._

"Mister Stark? Are you okay?"

"Huh?" he opens his eyes all at once to see Peter standing next to his work station, a tube of something in his hand, worrying at his bottom lip as he watches Tony cling to his own chest.

Upon seeing the big brown eyes that peep out under the messy shock of curls he feels warmth spread through his chest like a wildfire. It's almost unpleasantly fast but it leaves a field of peace in its wake which is doing more in calming his racing heart than any breathing exercise he's tried so far. There's something undeniably powerful about this kid's presence to ground him to reality.

"Yeah," he says and when the words leave his mouth they're barely a lie anymore but they have a pact where they don't lie at all, so he tags on, "Just my heart running riot for no apparent reason. Don't worry about it. What were you working on? Is that Chemistry project going well? Do you need help?"

As has become the norm in moments like these, Peter completely ignores his attempts to change the topic and cocks his head to the side in a mix of worry, amusement and plain adoration as he gingerly takes a seat on the swivel chair next to his mentor.

God. His love for this kid is making his heart clench painfully. He's never really experienced this kind of unconditional love before and some days it feels like his body hasn't been made with emotions like that in mind. They're burning too hot when he's freezing, leaving him reeling and unsure of where to turn.

"Did you take your meds?" He turns on the chair until his left thigh is resting against Tony's right knee and the petite touch is incredibly welcome, almost disturbingly calming.

He makes a face because he doesn't like talking about his mental health and everything that's wrong with it but he relents with a soft sigh and a shake of his head. "Nope. Doc said we could taper off them as long as I keep seeing her and nothing new comes up. But it's fine, Pete. I promise. Just not all that comfortable, that's it."

When Peter only pouts but doesn't argue any further, he eases his hands down from his own chest and rests them on the kid's shoulders instead, preening inwardly when the boy meets his gaze openly without further prodding.

"I'm not going to die in the next couple hours. I promise."

The teenager relaxes then, huffing and leaning forward to rest his forehead on his mentor's shoulder and like clockwork calloused fingers find the tense spots on his neck and start kneading it gently. "I just – worry. I'm sorry."

"Tell you what," Tony grins, standing up and pulling the kid with him, "Let's call it a day down here and catch a movie until Pep gets home for dinner, whataya say?"

"Can we just listen to music?"

"Sure we can, bud."

They end up listening to one of the few recorded pieces of Guido Agosti, an Italian pianist that taught his mom to play when she was young and it brings him back to a time when touch was not yet forbidden. A time when Maria Stark would sing him to sleep and he stayed up well past his bed-time only to listen to her play.

Sometimes they would listen to recordings together, from her priced possession of vinyl and those are some of the few moments of his childhood that he still revisits frequently and joyfully albeit with a heavy heart.

It's not that all that different now.

Peter's ear is resting right above his heart, his breathing coming out in soft even puffs of warm air against Tony's collarbone. He's curled up into him, fitting into Tony's embrace like he was meant to end up here. Like this has been life's grand goal all along and if that's true then Tony can't even be mad at everything that's happened so far.

His fingers run through the mess of curls ever so gently, working on the numerous knots with a proficiency that has come with hours and hours of practice.

The kid's already starting to nod off to the quiet calming sounds of his mother's childhood hero and he pulls him impossibly closer, index and middle finger coming to rest over the soft thump of his temporal pulse point.

Peter Parker came into his life when he was lost, only held together by Rhodey and Pepper but always dangerously close to falling apart. He thought there was no more room in his heart. That there was no way someone could get past the barriers he's built over the years and, honestly, he didn't think there was any need to.

Somehow, and without meaning to, Peter has barreled past all of them and quietly but firmly made room between all the scars and the betrayal and the fear. He settled down between all the pieces, build himself a shelter and, simultaneously, filled an aching hole in Tony's chest that he hadn't even realized was there.

Tony leans over to pull a blanket on top of both of them, smiling into Peter's hair when he nestles closer and lets out a soft snore. Before he drifts off to sleep, heart beating strong and steady and normally in his chest, he presses a kiss to his temple.

"I love you, Petey. Never change. Not like I did."


	14. Broken China Made in Walmart

_""I'm gonna take a guess and say that's broken" Tony finds Peter next to an age old vase, that was gift from his aunt Peggy, broken on the ground, with water and flowers everywhere."_ **_(itsallratherstrange on tumblr)_**

* * *

"I'm gonna take a lucky guess here and say that's broken."

As soon as Peter looked up he knew that that had been the wrongest thing he could have possibly said. Who the hell had trusted him to look after a kid?

The boy was crouched on the floor next to the smithereens of what used to be a vase, his pants drenched with the water that was pooling around him. The tulips his maid had gotten just two days prior were strewn across the floor, a mess of pollen and petals and mushed leaves.

None of that truly registered with Tony, though, because there was blood, too. Peter's hands were covered in blood where he was propped up on the floor from bracing his fall. The shards were embedded in his skin and the older man's stomach coiled at the sight. He had never had a problem seeing blood but apparently he had very many problems seeing this particular kid's blood.

"I'm so – so s-sorry, Mister- Mister Sta-Stark, sir," the kid stuttered through trembling lips, glassy eyes still locked on Tony who was getting increasingly worried by the second. "I- I didn't- I didn't mean to b-break it. I –"

"Shh," he shushed, squatting down next to Peter, glad he was still wearing shoes when he heard the glass crunch under his soles. He reached out, mirroring his movements so he wouldn't scare the kid who looked more and more like a frightened animal. Once he had a hold of the boy, he pulled him up with him and lead him a few steps away.

An undertaking that was a lot easier said than done when you were trying to move a shell-shocked super-teen.

Gently he pried Peter's hands from where he was grabbing the fabric of his pants and inspected the injury. The blood had certainly made it looked worse than it actually was but he doubted the shards in his hands were a lot of fun either way.

"It's not that bad," he told the muted kid with an encouraging smile even though he still felt sick just looking at the blood. "We're gonna pull them out and clean you up and with your super-healing you're going to be good as new in no time."

When there was still no reply he started pulling him towards the kitchen and the first aid kid he stored there. Peter followed without problem, stumbling a little when they came to the halt but never actually making a sound. It was the longest he had ever gone without at least making some kind of noise ever since Tony had met him. He couldn't help but worry the longer it went on.

Only when he had manhandled the kid into a chair and made sure he wasn't going to slip out of it before getting a pair of tweezers and some disinfection to clean the wound, did the kid open his mouth.

"B-but what about the vase."

Tony looked up from cupboard he was rummaging through and frowned. "What about it?"

"It's – it's broken," the kid gasped and it sounded like he had to put everything he had into not breaking out into a sob.

Frankly, it broke Tony's heart.

"Yeah, I figured that," he agreed softly, lowering down onto his knees in front Peter and gently turning his left hand who had taken the blunt of the glass. "It's just a vase, buddy, they break," he told him, trying to convey with his eyes that he really couldn't care less about some stupid ceramic as long as Peter was still bleeding.

"I'm going to pull out the shards now. It's going to sting a bit but we don't want anything stuck in there when you start healing, alright?"

When the kid didn't reply and simply kept staring he squeezed his knee with his free hand and repeated. "Is that okay, kid?" Only when he got a shaky nod in return did he start to pull out the pieces one by one.

Peter winced but otherwise didn't show any sign of pain which made the whole procedure a lot more bearable for Tony who felt a stab through his own skin with every piece he cleaned.

"You told me it was a gift from your Aunt Peggy." His voice was barely more than a whisper and immediately after the words left his mouth he bit his trembling lip, obviously still forcing back a sob. "And- and I- I bro-broke it."

He was shaking at that point, tears leaking from his eyes and mixing with the dried blood on his cheek from where he had tried to wipe his eyes with his hands earlier. "I'm so – sorry, Mister Stark."

Tony shushed him again, surprised how paternal the sound made him feel, how he instinctually reached out to brush the tears away and lowered the tweezers to concentrate on the kid's distress instead.

"I don't care about you breaking the vase." And, surprisingly, he didn't. Yes, it had been a gift from Peggy Carter but that was so far down on his lists of priorities right now, it didn't even make the first page.

"I'm going to tell you a story about my Aunt Peggy and that vase," he decided, settling his hand on Peter's knee again and waiting until he met his eyes again. "But first you're going to tell me whether you're crying over that vase or because you're in pain. Because you are allowed to cry when you're in pain but you're not allowed to cry over a stupid vase."

That managed to tickle a giggle out of the boy and albeit wet and shaky it was music in Tony's ears. "Doesn't hurt too bad," he sniveled, "but I didn't wanna make you sad."

"Then let me get out these shards while telling you about my favorite aunt and I'll be the happiest. Deal?"

Peter nodded and Tony went back to work.

"Aunt Peggy was my godmother," he began, "it was my dad's idea. I think he wanted to have people around his firstborn son who loved Steve Rogers as much as he did and who wouldn't let him forget his biggest creation. It was," he swallowed, "hard sometimes to grow up with a dad who was always looking for more than you could give him but Aunt Peggy wasn't like that at all."

A smile stretched across his face remembering the fierce redhead who had never minced her words, especially not for Howard Stark.

"Peggy loved me a lot." It was one of the few things he was truly certain of. "And I think he hadn't planned for that. For her actually wanting to spend time with me and not comparing me to a dead super soldier and their relationship went downhill from there." An understatement if he'd ever heard one.

"Peggy didn't like the way Howard acted and how he treated me, so she told him as much. Frequently. Protected me from his wrath more than once when _I_ broke something of value. She did her best to drive him up the walls of our fancy mansion and she was the best at it. That's why she got him that vase for Christmas one year."

"Sorry, buddy," he grimaced when the boy winced and a solitary tear slipped from the corner of his eye. "We're almost done. Do you want me to stop talking?"

"Nuh uh," he shook his head, smiling bravely, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, "I wanna know about the vase."

"Okay, kiddie." He concentrated on plucking another shard from his right hand now before continuing.

"Howard loved everything fancy," he explained, "Everything was better when it cost a lot of money and things were only really worth having when they had a name everyone knew. The house I grew up in looked more like a museum than anything else and it was equally frightening to just walk through the rooms."

"He also prided himself on looking like a good guy to the rest of the world." Key word being _look like_. "So when Peggy Carter, prominent agent and Co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. presented him with a cheap no-name vase during the annual Christmas gathering, basically in front of the whole world or at least in front of everyone who mattered, he had to accept her gift with a big smile and cheek kisses. He was livid."

Tony chuckled quietly, pulling out the last piece of ceramic and picking up the disinfection.

"This one's gonna burn a bit but we don't want any dirt in there once it's closing," he warned, "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," came the tight- lipped reply, "Why did your dad keep the vase if he didn't like it?"

"Oh, believe me he would have loved nothing more than to throw it out," Tony said with a grin that turned into a sorry grimace when Peter hissed. "Sorry. It's almost over."

"He actually hid it in some secret chamber never to be seen again until there was another function and Peggy openly lamented over how she had never actually seen the vase she had gotten him for Christmas and there were a lot of questions about why he wouldn't want to set it up where everyone could see it."

"So, whether he liked it or not, Howard had the vase put up on a small table right at the entrance with the order to always keep it clean and to always keep the flowers in it fresh. It was the first thing you saw when you set foot into the mansion and it was a sign of Peggy's stubbornness and her love to defy the likes of men like Howard. It was the only thing I kept of Howard's."

Peter frowned at him, looking frustrated. "So the vase _was_ important to you even though it wasn't very expensive. I'm _really_ sorry Mister Stark."

"Sure it was," he agreed easily, reaching for the gauze to bandage the now clean wound, "But the thing Peggy taught me was that people are always more important than stuff no matter how valuable you think the stuff is. She took off her engagement ring because she accidentally cut my cheek with it one time. Said being engaged wasn't worth hurting me and started wearing it on a chain around her neck from then on."

He had finished wrapping the kid's hands and pulled out a tissue to clean off the residue blood from his wrists and face.

"My point is," he said, wiping at Peter's cheek until the red came off, grinning when the boy scrunched up his face in indignation, "she would've banned all vases from the house the second someone got hurt because of them. And, yeah, it was a nice token to remember my Aunt Peggy by but I'd rather have you happy and healthy and tell you about her than some stupid old vase that she once touched."

"So," Peter cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, "You're not mad?"

"Nope," he shook his head and pushed himself back up, cringing when his joints creaked. "You know how much old people love telling stories. And I got to tell one of my favorite stories about Peggy Carter so really I'm glad you broke it. Not so glad you got hurt, though."

The kid grinned happily, jumping up from the chair, tears and broken vase forgotten. "You are old," he agreed with a laugh and then, a little more hesitantly asked, "Do you want to tell me more about her?"

"More stories about Aunt Peggy? Gladly, buddy."


	15. Sorry (Is All That You Can Say)

**A/N:** I know I said I wanted to finish all ten prompts in April but the next one is going to be part 2 of a series so I gotta write part 1 first. Hope you enjoy! And Happy Easter to whoever's celebrating :)

 **Prompt: Bullying** _"A case of bullying goes too far and Peter ends up in a hospital (not self-harm related, there is a real accident). He is unconscious so his friends visit and Tony and May try to get a clear picture of what happened but everyone has a different side"_ ( **irondadgroupie on tumblr** )

* * *

 ** _Ned_**

Oh man. Today really wasn't his day.

It had started with a surprise chemistry quiz in first period and while Ned was anything but stupid, Chemistry really wasn't his best subject and to get good grades he actually had to put effort in. Unlike some chemistry-genius-superhero he knew who had finished with ten minutes to spare.

Peter had aced the quiz, of course, and while he did try to look contrite during lunch it just wasn't the same when he wasn't as miserable as Ned felt. There seemed to be something else on his best friend's mind all day that kept him from tapping into his empathy all the way to really get Ned's distress.

Usually he would've asked but as it was, he was sulking about his own shitty day. He was allowed to those, right?

After lunch they had gym which, you know, just made everything worse in general because it was _gym_. There was no rope climbing today but the joy over the announcement quickly dissipated the second their teacher got out the basketballs.

Now that was just great.

Running around was _not_ his thing. Least of all while having to dribble a stupid orange ball that he could swear had a mind of its own. And catching. Also not one of his talents. Or throwing for that matter. Why did this day have to rub everything he wasn't good at in? Shouldn't shit like that be evenly spread between a couple of days, if not months? Was fate really that cruel?

(Yes, maybe he was being a little dramatic.)

But gym was almost over and after that he could finally put an end to the horrible, awful, depressing portion of this day and move on to better and brighter things. Like math homework.

While Ned squatted down to get his water bottle he mindlessly rubbed his upper arm that had taken a hit from a stray basketball earlier in the game. Great, that was going to be another bruise. He was just preparing to take a sip when he heard a loud crash and then a few seconds of complete, terrifying silence.

Frowning he turned around to see what the ensuing commotion was about.

A crowd had started to form right next to their playing field on the other side of the hall. He could make out Emily yelling for the teacher who was already hurrying over towards them. Some other girls were squatting down next to whoever must have fallen and even MJ looked slightly worried and kind of angry which were more emotions than she usually showed anyone.

That was his first hint that something was wrong.

Instinctually Ned tried to make out Peter in the crowd, expecting his friend to be on the side lines as long as he wasn't actively needed.

Even before the spider bite crowds of screaming people had tended to get to him and Ned was worried about him slipping into another sensory-overload-induced-anxiety attack. He only got more worried when he couldn't find him anywhere.

Pushing himself back up, the sweat dripping from his forehead to the floor almost making him slip in the process, he started running towards his classmates. His sneakers squeaked hitting the linoleum floor, his heart that hadn't yet calmed down from the game earlier was now threatening to jump out of his chest and his lungs were screaming but he didn't pay his body any mind because the longer he went without getting a visual on his stupid best friend the more anxious he got.

Surely Peter wouldn't… No, he was a superhero! He wouldn't just collapse in gym class. That was a thing that could've happened to pre-bite Peter who always forgot his inhaler. The scrawny teenager that could barely finish the first lapse and refused to hand in his doctor's note so he wouldn't have to. It would not happen to this crazy enhanced version of his best friend who jumped from skyscrapers and did back flips for shits and giggles.

No way.

He pushed past Flash and his idiot friends, only noting in passing that the boy seemed a lot more subdued than he had before. Maybe someone tripping in gym could get even an asshole like Flash to shut up for once in his life.

Once he got to the heart of the commotion, though, the thought completely slipped his mind because there, on the floor, lay his idiot best friend. Unnervingly unmoving, eyes closed and with blood slowly leaking from the brown mob of curls.

 _Holy crap._

"What the hell happened?"

He didn't really hear the answer to the question, too preoccupied with his unconscious friend. He only gave himself five seconds to internally freak out before he dropped down next to him and started shaking him, trying to get him to wake up. Without success.

 _Okay, Ned._ _Think, think, thin –_

Mister Stark!

Mister Stark always made Peter call him when he was hurt. Surely Iron-Man would be able to help, right?

His left hand was resting on Peter's chest as gently as possible while he started flailing his right to the side. "Get me Peter's phone. Right now," he yelled at whoever was standing closest to him.

He could do this. He just had to call Mister Stark and the man would know what to do. He would get Peter to wake back up. He would get the best doctors to help Peter. Everything was going to be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

 _It had to be._

* * *

 ** _MJ_**

"How's he doing?"

Her voice sounded foreign in her own ears. Too quiet, too unsure in the empty hall that led to the school's emergency room. She had disliked hospitals ever since visiting her grandma after a surgery and this part of the building looked enough like one to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and a shiver run down her spine even though she wasn't really cold. That didn't stop the chilly feeling in her bones, though.

She tried not to show how uncomfortable she was as she plopped down on one of the seats, leaving another empty between her and Ned who was still in his gym clothes that were clinging to his sweaty skin.

The boy looked up from where he had been staring at his fidgeting hands and tried to send her something akin to a smile. It was more of a grimace than anything else but she could appreciate that he tried to put her at ease.

"He's going to be okay. The paramedics are prepping him for transport." He sighed and suddenly looked lost, where his exuberant nature usually filled every room he was in. He was a lot like Peter in that way but with a pure lightness that came from not having experienced any personal tragedies yet. Hesitantly she reached out to give his shoulder what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze before awkwardly letting her hand drop back down to her lap.

Ned looked thankful regardless.

"Mister Stark wanted to get him transferred to the Tower but the emergency doctor said it's safer to bring him to a hospital with a department for neurosurgery. Just in case," he trailed off with another sigh. "They don't know what's going on inside his head yet but since he hit it somehow they're suspecting a contusion. Which isn't too bad at least from what I googled. They'll be running a CT scan when they're at the hospital and Mister Stark promised to call as soon as there are any news."

"He's going to be okay," she tried sounding optimistic, something she didn't usually put much effort into, "I'm guessing Stark won't let him be anything else. He's gonna get the best doctors money can buy."

She realized with a start that she wasn't even mad about some billionaire having access to better medical care right then. She had watched said billionaire rush into the building, clad in a three piece suit that probably matched the important meeting he had been called out of, his usually flawlessly styled hair a mess and he had looked as worried as she felt. If not more.

There had been a sort of fire in his eyes that she hadn't believed him capable of. Something fierce and unconditionally loving. He had made no pretense that he would do anything to make this better and that made her like him just a wee bit more.

"Yeah," Ned agreed, not picking up on her inner musings about the man both him and Petr idolized more than she thought people should be idolized. "Helen Cho is already on her way from California."

The way he said it, like it was no big deal that one of the most renown medical doctors in the world had just dropped everything to fly out to New York to look after a random teenager was nothing unheard of, made her pause. Even if said teenager was Tony Stark's mentee.

She frowned. "Does she do that often?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Mister Stark goes a little over board sometimes," he told her, corners of his lips twitching upwards ever so slightly. "He made her come here to treat Peter when he had the flu last month. But I think she likes him or she wouldn't be doing it. That reminds me-"

Michelle cocked her head to the side when he stopped midsentence, encouraging him to keep going.

"Uh, Mister Stark and the paramedics asked me what happened and I realized that I – I didn't even know." His voice dropped down to a whisper. "I was on the other side of the gym and I only got there when he was already unconscious and –"

"Flash tripped him," she interrupted his rambling, flinching inwardly at how detached it sounded when she felt anything but.

Suddenly there was a surge of anger in her chest, pushing her worry to the side as she sat up straighter. Anger was easier to focus on than concern. She hated being the scared and helpless girl it turned her into. "He held out his leg on purpose when Peter was getting off the field and collecting the last balls to help clean up and he could see that he wasn't looking so, like the asshole he is, he tripped him."

"Figures," Ned sighed again.

She really hated how often he made that sound. It sounded too much like he was okay with this, as if that's just a thing that happened and he couldn't do anything about it.

"Why aren't you angry?" she all but snapped, "That piece of … Flash keeps bullying the two of you and you're never doing anything about it! You just let it happen! And now Peter's unconscious because that – that _asshole_ tripped him on purpose. How are you not _livid_?"

Her heart was thumping uncomfortably loudly in her chest when she met Ned's gaze that had snapped up some time during her rant. She didn't know what she had expected but it hadn't been the flash of indignation in his eyes and the grim line his mouth was set in.

"You want to know why I'm not angry?" he repeated incredulously, voice slow and quiet and so very different from what she was used to from Ned Leeds.

A part of her realized then that she had stepped out of line. They weren't friends after all. She didn't do friends.

"I'm going out of my mind with worry for my best friend," he told her steadily but his voice started rising, "I'm scared shitless that it might be real bad and of course I'm angry. I'm angry whenever Flash starts bullying Peter. I _hate_ that there's nothing he ever does about it but I've known Peter long enough to know that he prefers it this way."

"Wha –"

"No," he cut her off with a wave of his hand and, jumping to his feet, he started pacing in the narrow hallway. "He prefers being Flash's favorite victim because that way he doesn't go looking for someone else. And of course that's messed up but try telling the idiot that. There's nothing I can do to change his mind. You know what I can do, though?"

It sounded like a rhetorical question so she didn't answer even when he kept glaring at her.

"I can be his friend and pick him up when Flash's teasing does get to him. I can be his best friend and spend time with him and make sure he knows that that's just one bully talking and that he's none of the things getting thrown in his face. And that's hard and it's an unfair world and it makes me _so_ _mad_ but he deserves to have someone in his corner. So I do that, every day. Because he's my best friend and I love this stupid self-sacrificing idiot. But you don't get to lecture me about not being angry enough when he's hurt because you do none of that."

Ned seemed to inflate after his outburst, continuing with a soft and tired voice and she felt hot red shame creep into her cheeks.

"You might not be bullying him like Flash does but you aren't nice to us either. You call us losers and barely glance at us and I know you consider us friends and it's your warped up way of showing you care but sometimes he just needs someone to be nice who genuinely cares for him. Like today, he was already having a bad day and I didn't.. I didn't ask him about it. Maybe he would've seen it coming if I had helped him before."

"It's not your fault," she whispered, anger vanished only leaving shame and regret that filled her whole being. Ned was _right_. "I'm sorry."

He smiled softly, a small raise of the corner of his lips, eyes open and gentle and not condemning like she felt they should be. "You don't have to apologize. Just… think about it, will you? He doesn't blame you, you know. And I'm just… I'm really glad he has Mister Stark in his corner now, too."

And that – that Tony Stark, the man she made out to be the Anti-Christ more often than not, the spoiled billionaire, the poster child of emotionally constipated had gotten his head out of his ass before she had to openly care about Peter Parker – that stung.

"I'm glad he has him, too."

* * *

 ** _Tony_**

There were two opposing parts battling for dominance in Tony's body at the moment.

The one that had been there all his life, hectic and jittery and unable to stand still when it counted. It had his entire being screaming to pace in the small hospital room, to release the tension by doing _something_ , anything at all. He felt like every fiber, every cell, was moving on a speed so high they were effectively vibrating, making his hands shake and heart flutter when he didn't comply with the motion.

The other part was currently winning.

This part was a new, barely-there, still opening bud but for how young it was, it was all-encompassing and inevitable. It made his muscles cramp with the need to comfort and protect and it wouldn't let him move even an inch from where he was standing at the top of the bed in the intensive care unit of some Midtown hospital that held his single most prized possession. His fingers were itching to run through the messy curls but he wouldn't relent, too scared to jostle any of the devices currently attached to the kid.

The kid - _Peter, his Peter_ \- looked impossibly small in the large bed surrounded by beeping machines, countless IV stands and devices Tony wasn't completely sure what they were supposed to do but also didn't care about.

Much like Tony he was still, too.

Unnaturally still for an enhanced teenager that could talk for hours on end without missing a beat, who would make Tony lose his mind with his hyper nature that had him almost topple from whatever he was sitting on every other day and who went slinging through New York in his free time.

So he made do, yielding to the ever-growing parental instincts in his chest, and rested his hand on his kid's arm, thumb brushing over the warm skin in an effort to soothe him even though he knew there were so many drugs running through his system that the touch would most likely not even register.

Waiting in hospital rooms with nothing to do, no way to fix a thing, never did get easier he had come to realize. There was always an internal struggle of whether to be mad or relieved, devastated or thankful, glum or hopeful.

A timid knock on the door made him snap out of his spinning thoughts, mind quickly running through possible intruders – friend or foe – and coming to a standstill when a teenager that wasn't Ned poked his head past the door. The unfamiliar boy's eyes went wide and hadn't he been so emotionally drained, Tony would've scoffed at the ridiculousness of the scene. As it was he just squeezed Peters hand more tightly in a wordless promise, a silent vow to protect.

"Can I help you?"

"I, uh, I'm sorry, I, uh, didn't, uh, didn't mean to- to intrude, sir," the boy stammered, hand curling around the door so tightly his knuckles were turning white. "I was just, uh, but, I mean.. I'm just gonna… gonna go, sir."

"Wait." Tony stopped him before the kid could turn around and flee the scene. Something seemed to be on that boy's mind and it seemed important enough to make the trip to the hospital, find out the kid's room number and muster up the courage to come see him when they evidently weren't close friends. "Are you here to see Peter?"

"Ye- yes," came the reply, almost a whisper before he suddenly seemed to be reminded of something, straightened his back and cleared his throat. "Yes, sir."

It reminded Tony so much of himself at that age, with Howard's voice always in his head telling him to _stand tall, speak clearly, act strong and demand respect,_ that he had to mentally take a step back from the scene and the onslaught of memories of being constantly afraid to focus on the boy at hand.

This was new, too, embracing the innate empathy that had been buried deeply by an ingrained need to deflect. He tried not to dwell on how natural it felt, how satisfyingly fulfilling, and instead decided to blame it completely on the unconscious teenager whose heartrate gave him a calming beat to focus on.

"Come on in, then. What's your name?" he asked him, the hand that wasn't holding on to his kid running through his own hair in a futile attempt to sort it. Paired with a crinkled suit and deep lines of worry marring his face this was admittedly not his best look.

There had been moments in his life when he would've cared about his appearance in a public hospital but his priorities had shifted drastically since then. Sometimes it felt that everything had shifted until a teenager from Queens had become the new axis of his world. The one thing everything else was circling around. The sun of his galaxy.

"Eugene, sir. Eugene Thompson."

Tony watched closely as he shut the door behind very carefully before turning around to face the bed. He seemed unsure of himself, hands tugging on designer sleeves, eyes darting all over the room, never resting anywhere for too long, always avoiding to look at either of the other men.

Something in his tired brain had peeked up at the name but it took him an embarrassingly long moment to match the boy's unease and name with a fitting story. He started clenching his hands to fists involuntarily, anger roaring in his chest, before his new instinct took over and he forcefully relaxed his grip on Peter.

Peter was his priority.

"You're Flash, aren't you? You're the one who put him here."

"I –" For a moment the offender seemed at a loss for words, caught, and he was looking like he was about to bolt through the door but then, in the time it took Tony to blink, his entire demeanor changed. Flash met his gaze, shoulders hunched, wide eyes turning glassy and hands falling to his sides unmoving. "Yes, sir. It's my fault he's here and I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I never meant to actually hurt him, I–"

"But you did, didn't you?" Tony interrupted, protectiveness flaring up in his chest and making way for the anger he had been trying to breathe through. This boy, this child was the reason his kid had to be pumped to the rim with anesthesia so they could drill a hole into his skull to monitor his intracranial pressure. And he was _right here_. Right in front of Tony and he wasn't fighting back.

"What did you think would happen when you tripped someone? That they start flying and end the grandiose routine with a bow to a round of applause?" he spat, vision turning red and dark and gruesome. "Tell me, _Flash_ , what _did_ you think would happen? What were you hoping to achieve?"

The boy flinched at the harsh words but didn't back away in the slightest, just hung his head and murmured another apology, taking it all in.

And, dammit, Tony knew he deserved to be called out and by god he wanted to be the one to do it because he had _hurt Peter_. There was something in the way he stood, though, that made him stop in his tracks. It put his anger on hold, something like recognition making the blood rush in his head.

That boy looked like he had expected the harsh words and while he had flinched when Tony had raised his voice at first, he had adapted quickly and hadn't even tried to move away. The only sign of self-defense were his arms that twitched at his side as if they were itching to cover his face.

Suddenly Tony was incredibly tired. His head was spinning, he felt dizzy and guilty and broken down to the very core.

"Flash," he tried more calmly this time, rubbing a hand over the scar on his chest and trying to swallow past the distaste the name elicited in his mouth and beckoning him closer to the bed. When he followed suit, he watched him settle his gaze on Peter's skinny frame, eyes roaming the various monitors before settling on the pale face.

"Tell me what you see," he prompted the teenager whose gaze snapped up, brows furrowed. He looked even more confused now that Tony wasn't yelling anymore and Tony the worst thing about that was that he _understood_.

All of the sudden he ached for the reassuring contact of Peter curled into his side, breathing and happy and alive, to keep the demons from entering his mind but tried to push it away, had to push it away.

"I, uh," Flash swallowed, "I see Pe – Peter Parker in a hospital bed and I see that it's my fault, sir." The last part was barely more than a whisper, guilt heavy on his tongue.

Tony nodded, not meeting Flash's searching gaze in favor of watching Peter. "Do you know what I see?"

"No, sir."

He looked up then, trying to convey how much he meant every word, keeping his gaze open and not threatening. "I see the strongest kid I've ever met." Quite literally, he didn't say though the thought made his lips twitch. "I see a genius-level smart kid, well on his way to surpass me one of these days. I see a kid who is always smiling, who doesn't have a mean bone in his body and who cares so damn much about everyone around him. I see a kid who has seen more than a kid his age should have and who has lost more than you can imagine but who refuses to become a cynical asshole because of it."

 _Not like I did. He's already so much better than I could ever be._

He squeezed Peter's hand, breath hitching when he didn't squeeze back.

"Did you know he told me about you?"

"No, sir." There was a flash of fear in the boy's eyes then and while it satisfied a very feral part of Tony he also despised being the one to put it there. He had made a vow many years ago to never install that kind of fear in a child.

"He didn't want to, either. I had to tickle it out of him when he got home an hour late after detention sporting a bruise because he supposedly got into a fight. Do you know what he told me?"

"N- no, sir." Tony watched his whole body turn rigid, observed how his gaze never wavered from his and how his hands tremble. Despite himself, he tried to shoot him a reassuring smile.

"He told me you were having a rough time and how your mum was close to tears the last time she picked you up and how you were holding your shoulder funny. He stopped me from taking a suit, blast your house and tell you exactly what I think of people shoving my kid into lockers," he told him, trying to keep his voice even and without a trace of malice.

"Tha- I'm not sure what –"

He decided to give the fidgety teenager a moment to sort his thoughts and took the time to brush a few loose curls from his own teenager's forehead. The motion was familiar, calming and it gave him the strength to press on.

"The thing is," he sighed, hand still resting on Peter's forehead as if he was trying to summon the boy's goodness, "I understand shitty family. I get scary fathers and crying mums," he swallowed hard and met Flash's gaze again. "I know weird bruises you can't explain away."

"I – I don't – I'm not –"

"Yeah, neither am I," Tony scoffed before softening his gaze and trying to school his voice into a stern but kind tone. "What I'm trying to say - and believe me I'm bad at this and would rather be doing anything else - is that while I get why you are acting out, I want you to know that I won't let this happen ever again. I will not let you keep tormenting my kid because you're having a tough life. I will not stand by and let you ruin his days and land him in hospitals, are we understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

They stood quietly together for a while, the atmosphere in the room while not exactly comfortable wasn't dripping with fear and anger anymore. It was calm, peaceful. Like the sea after a storm.

To Tony's surprise it was Flash who broke the silence. "I thought he saw me and – and I thought he saw me putting out my leg for him to trip over. I- I thought he'd just, stumble and drop the balls I- I never wanted – I'm so sorry, Mister Stark."

The older man nodded, the sigh he let out feeling like every piece of resentment he had carried for decades on his chest. "I appreciate that but it's not me you should apologize to."

"I know but," there was a heavy pause, "I'm scared."

"I know," he replied because he did, "but you don't have to be. Not of him. As much as I hate how gullible he is sometimes, if you apologize to Peter he will forgive you, no questions asked. And if you start being a decent human being you might even find a friend in him. I think you could need good people in your life, and Peter is the best."

"Thank you, sir," Flash whispered, "For- for your words and, uh, for not blasting my house."

Tony looked up and grinned. "You're welcome but don't do it again or I still might."

* * *

 ** _Peter_**

When Peter woke up it took him a lot longer than it normally would to realize that this wasn't the setting he usually woke up in.

His head was angled in a way that when he did manage to pry his clotty eye lids open the first thing he saw was his mentor. Blinking he tried to clear his view of the man who hadn't yet realized his charge was awake and whose gaze was fixated on a spot to Peter's right with a heavy hand resting on the boy's arm.

Mindful of the buzzing in his head he tried a smile. "Hi T'ny."

"Kid?" The heavy hand tightened around his arm before loosening and rubbing a calloused thumb over his skin. A silent welcome back.

"Oh baby." A soothing voice on his left and a delicate touch of a familiar hand. _Aunt May_. Her voice alone eased his headache tremendously.

"Dude!" It sounded a little breathless, a little forced- cheerful and impossibly relieved. His heart warmed at hearing his best friend's voice and he was about to reply when he picked up two other voices.

"Peter?"

He blinked again, moving his head as slowly as possible to make out the people they belonged to, grateful when May's hand found his forehead and her cool fingers started running through his hair.

MJ and Flash were standing at the foot of his bed, both looking confusingly contrite and his brain was too tired, too fuzzy to come up with a good enough explanation as to why but he figured since _they_ were the ones at _his_ hospital bed he was entitled to ask.

"Whataya doin' here?"

It wasn't that he was scared of them, uncomfortable was probably a better word or self-conscious maybe, but he was tired, he was hurting and he really, childishly just didn't want to deal with any of that right now.

He had his family on his side, though. Tony to his left, May to his right with Ned next to her. They were shielding him, literally and metaphorically, from anything that might be thrown his way and he felt himself somewhat relax once that thought had settled in.

His classmates seemed to have come to the same conclusion and for a change they were the ones who looked self-conscious when they exchanged a look. (Since when did MJ exchange a look with Flash? Maybe this was a fever dream.)

"We wanted to apologize," they said in unison again and hadn't he been so sure that his aunt's and mentor's touch were real he would've bet on this being a fantasy. Not just because they were so in tune but also… since when did they apologize? What were they apologizing for?

Almost as if they'd read his mind, they continued.

"I haven't been very nice to you." MJ said, fidgeting with the sketch book in her hands "I see you as a friend and I realized that I shouldn't treat my friends like that so… I'm sorry." She paused, meeting Peter's gaze and he smiled again, about to tell her that it's okay when she plowed ahead, taking a step forward as she pulled a page from her sketch book and gave it to him.

It was a picture of Ned and him during lunch time. They were both laughing, bend over their respective meals with a juice box sitting between them. "Nerds are cool" was written down in neat handwriting in the center.

"And I'm sorry, too."

Before he had the chance to react to the nice gesture, Flash took over, voice rushed.

"For.. for everything," the words caught in his throat, "For landing you here and for being an asshole and making you miserable for no reason. I'm – I'm gonna stop doing that, I promise." With that he stuck out his hand which Peter, completely taken aback, took and shook.

"It's okay, guys," he tried with a crooked voice that hurt his throat, "Apologies accepted and… thank you."

He frowned then, a thought occurring to him and he turned his head to look at his mentor.

"Was Doctor Strange here?"

At that Tony barked out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mirth and gentleness when his hand replaced his aunt's to ruffle his hair. "No, for once our strange friend had nothing to do with this."

So not a different dimension then.

He wouldn't rule out the fever dream quite yet but for the time being he was content and tired enough to just take what they said at face value. He would probably worry about it some other time. Right now he was surrounded by his family and not-enemies-might-be-friends and that was good enough for him.

* * *

 _A/N: this was my first time writing Ned and MJ. Thoughts?_


	16. Is This A Hug Yet?

**Prompt:** Ambush Hug - "It's a week after the events of Homecoming and the first time Peter comes and spend the weekend with Tony. After an eventful Friday night of bonding and working together in the lab until Saturday afternoon, Peter is in his room doing his homework. Tony comes to look for him to tell him dinner is ready but can't find him. He doesn't know Peter has a habit of doing homework on the ceiling. Peter times it perfectly and jumps into Tony's arms (who catches him) and sneaks in a hug. Tony" (arrow-shadowwolf on tumblr)

 **A/N:** I feel like this might've turned into a crack fic halfway through. But otherwise this is fluff through and through. No trigger warnings, all happy moments. Love ya!

Part iv was inspired by a comic on tumblr by howdoiurlwhatdoesthismean!

* * *

 **i.**

"Is this a hug yet?"

Peter blinks up innocently from where his mentor is holding him flush against his chest. The older man's heart rate is accelerated, his warm chest shrinking and unfolding irregularly against Peter's own as he holds him in place with two strong, steady arms.

He flutters his eyelashes when Mister Stark just looks at him without saying a word, face schooled into a passive façade that gives nothing away. A very self-conscious part of him is starting to regret the words more with every passing second.

After another moment, in which Mister Stark's heart rate and breathing even out slowly, a sigh follows the silence, sounding less annoyed and more fond. His mentor's face relaxes, eyes soft and welcoming. It settles Peter's own racing heart.

"No, I don't think this counts," is the final reply and he grins when the corners of Mister Stark's lips quirk upwards ever so slightly and the crow's feet wrinkles around his eyes deepen.

"Fair enough," he shrugs and extracts himself from the man's hold.

He doesn't disagree either, it _was_ more a save than a hug if he is being honest. He tripped over his own feet the second he set foot into the bigger than life penthouse and hadn't it been for the billionaire's quick reflexes, he would've face planted into the floor.

It was, admittedly, not one of his finest moments but it did end him up in an almost hug and with a warm smile, so he isn't too worried about his clumsiness just then.

"We have all weekend," he adds and straightens again, brushing invisible dirt from his hoodie and taking a step back to look at the awing room again, "and one of these days…"

He lets the unfinished sentence hang in the air like a threat or a promise or maybe both. It feels exciting and daring and the hair ruffle he gets in return makes him grow at least three inches in height.

Come Sunday he'd get that hug. One way or the other.

* * *

 **ii.**

This is… decidedly less comfortable than he expected.

Not that he expected slamming into a suit made of a gold titanium alloy at high speed while dropping down several stories to be very comfortable but still.

He squirms in Iron-Man's grip until he can see more than the suit of armor that is holding him tightly against the hard chest plate, ignoring Mister Stark's terse orders to ' _keep the heck still'_ over the comm. If he gets to fly – actually _fly_ and not swing – across New York he wants to at least take in the view.

"That was awesome!" he exclaims once he has gotten his bearings together.

Realizing he must sound like a little child who'd just gotten candy for the first time he tries to school his voice into a more indifferent tone. "I mean. That was a very inconvenient situation, thank you for catching me. I hope it never happens again."

When Mister Stark's voice sounds through his mask next, he can make out the smirk in his voice and he doesn't have to see his face to know he's rolling his eyes. "You can be excited about flying, kid. Lord knows I was when I took Mark II for its first ride."

"I am _so_ excited. Like, more excited than I was for the new Star Wars trilogy. More excited than I am for the Lego Hogwarts set. More excited than –"

His rambling gets interrupted with exasperated fondness. "You like flying and you're a nerd, yeah, I got the memo, kiddie."

"Woo Hoo," he yells out experimentally, grinning widely when the sound echoes back at him. "Does this count as a hug, Mister Stark? 'Cause it'd be a very special one."

The older man laughs but doesn't reply, instead he drops down suddenly only catching the suit at the last second before they hit the ground and shoots upwards to go into a looping. Peter can't help the joyful cheer that leaves his lips at the pulling in his stomach and he giggles with glee, leaning back into his mentor's hold and enjoying the ride.

No matter the acrobatics, the flight never wavers and Peter hopes intently that Mister Stark knows how safe he's feeling despite being a couple hundred meters high in the air, having no web fluid to fall back on to and with only two arms keeping him from plummeting down to his demise. He doesn't worry at all, he knows nothing can happen to him here.

* * *

 **iii.**

"Not a hug."

Peter scoffs, taking the screwdriver from the engineer and pats the man's back experimentally. The fabric of the worn Metallica shirt is incredibly soft and he'd love nothing more than to hold onto it some more.

"I mean you totally just stepped into my open arms to hand me something but okay, whatever floats your boat."

Mister Stark rolls his eyes and says: "I don't appreciate the sass" in a voice that directly contradicts his statement.

"What counts as a hug anyway?" he ponders with a grin, taking a step back to throw the screwdriver in the air and catch it again without threatening his mentor's eyesight, "I feel like we should find a common ground on that. F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"The Oxford dictionary defines a hug as an act of holding someone tightly in one's arms, typically to express affection. The word originated in the mid-16th century, most likely in Scandinavia, and is related to the Norwegian hugga which means 'comfort, console'."

"See," Mister Stark seems pleased with the statement and claps his hands together, managing to make an even bigger mess of the motor oil staining them, "I don't express affection. You can ask anyone."

Something about this feels like an opening, like a trial run to _more_ and Peter Parker is nothing but someone who dives into opportunities like these head first, only thinking about the consequences afterwards.

A smile plays around his lips as he asks again, while holding the older man's gaze, "F.R.I.D.A.Y?"

The A.I. doesn't respond in words, instead the whole lab is suddenly filled with blue glowing holograms of a life's worth of pictures and videos and letters and e-mails. Above it all like a headline float the word _Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart_ like the title to a sappy origin story.

There are old pictures with his mum, videos and pictures with Colonel Rhodes through several decades of friendship, articles in newspapers he's never seen before. There's his engagement announcement with Miss Potts, a truck load of pictures of them including a huge stuffed rabbit, and some receipt for a potato gun and lab equipment in Tennessee.

Peter's eyes, though, are stuck to the small section featuring him.

 _Good work in D.C._ and _Good job, kid_ and _I'm just grabbing the door for you_ and _With a little more mentoring you could be a real asset to the team_ and _I like the kid, I want you to invite the kid_. There's hours and hours worth of programming for his suit, there's schematics and scribbled notes and a list of his favorite snacks and drinks.

"You were saying?" he asks smugly as his heart summersaults in his chest.

* * *

 **iv.**

It's late evening on Saturday and they're both in the kitchen to get a snack in before bed. (Although from the way the billionaire is hogging the coffee machine he suspects Mister Stark isn't really going to go to sleep after this.)

Peter is already in his pajamas and slumped over the kitchen counter, his socked feet dangling in the air from the barstool he's sitting on. He has coupled the Hello Kitty sweatpants with a worn t-shirt that's almost too narrow in the shoulders now but that he can't bring himself to give away.

He's undeniably comfortable. More so than he could've hoped to be when Happy picked him up on Friday after school and just the fact that they have come so far makes his heart soar with happiness. Maybe this is something he can hold onto. Maybe this is something he is allowed to have.

A yawn pulls him from his thoughts and he can see Mister Stark perk up at the sound and look away from the stove to zero in on him, eyes narrowed.

"You alright, squirt?" he asks, eyeing him skeptically as if he expects Peter to spontaneously combust under his care.

"Yup," he pops the p and stifles another yawn, "Just tired. And hungry," he adds when his stomach decides to join the party with a loud growl. He gives a lopsided grin that his mentor returns with a smirk, eyes gentle.

"Cold, too?"

"Maybe a little?" He rubs his hands over his upper arms sheepishly. "But it's not that bad, I'm – No-" he stares at his mentor in disbelief who has started slipping out of his hoodie before Peter has a chance to complain and throws it at his head. "You really don't have to do that," he says, frowning at the piece of clothing in his hands.

"Well, I did do it," the man replies with a roll of his eyes before turning away and going back to stirring in the pot. "Now put that on and drink your herbal tea. The oatmeal is almost done. You want a banana in there?"

Peter pulls the hoodie over his head, immediately sinking into the feeling of safety the smell and the softness provide.

There's something sacred about getting to wear someone else's clothes, he thinks. It's something his uncle used to let him do whenever he would be away for a few days or when Peter couldn't sleep. There's a faint hint of Mister Stark's cologne clinging to the sweater, as well as the smell of motor-oil and sweat and something he can't quite put his finger on but that just screams _protected_.

"I still think it's weird you had F.R.I.D.A.Y. look up what teenagers should eat before bed," he complains once he's cuddled into the cloth and has pushed the sleeves up to reach for his cup of tea.

"Yeah, well, boo hoo, kiddie." Mister Stark puts down the bowl in front of him, pushing a spoon into his hand. "I remember someone not telling me they couldn't sleep so last night now we're here. Eat up." It's a gruff order but, like with everything the engineer does, fondness is shining through deliberately to take the bite from his words.

"Uh, Mister Stark," he perks up suddenly when his mentor has turned away again, an idea popping into his mind. "You've, uh, you've got something on your back." He jumps off the bar stool and skitters to a halt in front of the man on his fuzzy socks.

Too surprised to actually do anything while Peter reaches around him to get whatever is supposedly on his back, Mister Stark lets him hug him around the middle and dart away again in the blink of an eye, laughing almost manically.

"Parker!"

"Mister Stark," he grins through a bite of oatmeal.

All he gets in return his an exasperated shake of his head. "Not a hug. Eat your damn oatmeal, kid."

It doesn't really matter, though, because as he's devouring the food under Mister Stark's watchful gaze, is mentor's smell is clinging to him and the hoodie fills like a hug in and of itself.

* * *

 **v.**

Turns out getting bitten by a radioactive spider has changed quite a few aspects of Peter's life.

The fact, for example, that he can now go through gym classes without breaking a sweat, has to eat almost constantly to not pass out or the tiny little detail that he goes out as a superhero in his free time.

One thing that he hasn't realized he has been doing until giving May a heart attack just a few days earlier is that he feels increasingly comfortable on the ceiling. It doesn't really matter whether he's just pacing while video chatting Ned or laying there, browsing on his phone, or doing his homework up there like he is doing right now.

He's absentmindedly gnawing on his pencil over his essay about Buddhism in media when he hears Mister Stark approach his room.

The man's humming a song from _The Greatest Showman_ which has been stuck in his head ever since breakfast when Peter decided to play the whole soundtrack on repeat. Despite how annoyed his mentor tries to seem about it, he has caught him drumming along to _The Greatest Show_ on the third playing.

With a grin he slips out his phone and silently swipes around until he finds the part he wants to play before putting it back, dropping both pencil and notebook to his bed and bringing himself in position.

 _Don't fight it, it's coming for you, running at ya, It's only this moment, don't care what comes after, It's blinding, outshining anything that you know, Just surrender 'cause you're calling and you wanna go_

"Lunch's ready for Spider- Bab – are you _still_ listening to that?"

Mister Stark has reached his room now and, poking his head through, calls for Peter when he can't find him in it.

The chorus is covering up all sounds the billionaire might've heard from Peter moving quietly on the ceiling, positioning himself right above the searching man who has taken another step into the room, effectively sealing his fate.

In a swift movement, Peter turns slightly and drops down right into his mentor's arms who clings to him almost instinctually, letting out a very unmanly screech that gets lost in Peter's singing.

"It's everything you ever waaant, It's everything you ever neeeed, And it's here right in front of youuu, this is where you wanna be –that was supposed to be your part, Mister Stark!"

He's cackling now, wriggling in the older man's grip who's promising to drop him to the floor only to let out a string of choice words when he realizes he can't.

"Peter Benjamin Parker," he demands sternly, "Quit using your sticky powers on me right this second."

* * *

 **vi.**

Contrary to what Mister Stark promised after he had to walk a singing teenager all the way to the kitchen to feed him, he does not push Peter off on Happy when it's time for him to go home. If anything Peter feels like the man might even be enjoying the small trip just the two of them. (Even though The Greatest Showman is strictly banned from the car much to Peter's chagrin.)

"So, you have a nice time, kid?"

In answer he bobs his head to the soft rock music that is traveling through the car's surround sound system. His feet are propped up on the dashboard and he's twisted in his seat so he can get a good look at his mentor who's dividing his time between looking at the road and chastising Peter about proper sitting in a car.

It's missing any real heat, though, and at some point he thinks it just becomes the thing for him to get hung up on to have something to talk about.

"Finished all your homework?"

"Yup." He leans his head back and let's his eyes flutter close, enjoying the warmth of the sun through the windshield. "I think using your dad's old diaries really gave my essay about life during WW II an edge. Think my teacher'll like it. He's a fan." He yawns and not a second later feels his mentor shift to brush a few pesky curls away from his forehead.

"Is he now?" He sounds half amused, half bitter.

"Yeah," Peter shrugs, "But I told him that you're cooler than your dad anyway. Wrote an essay about that once, too."

"You're unbelievable." Even without looking he knows the man's smiling that fond smile he likes to hide so much.

He just hums uncommitedly and lets the music and the movement and the even heartbeat next to him lull him into a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

Before he really has time to register it, Mister Stark is already pulling up on the curb in front of his apartment and is harassing him awake and asking if he really hasn't forgotten anything.

To his surprise his mentor actually slips out of the car at the same time he does and walks around to him, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans slightly awkwardly as he's swaying back and forth on the ball of his feet just the slightest bit.

"So, uh," Peter starts, unsure of where to go from here and of what to expect, "I guess I'll see you around?"

That earns him a laugh from the billionaire and in the blink of an eye he is being pulled into a hug. Rough calloused fingers ruffle his hair and a gruff voice that he could swear sounds emotional is in his ear.

"Yeah, I'll see you around, squirt. Happy'll pick you up Wednesday and bring you to the Tower for some lab work. Already talked to your aunt about it. You just gotta make sure you tell her you had a good time, alright? Or she might decapitate me after all. Or worse."

Peter's body is shaking with laughter and he wraps his arms around his mentor's waist. "I'll miss you, too, Mister Stark," he says, voice muffled into the older man's shirt, "Thank you for the awesome weekend."

And when he turns around with one last wave to climb up the front steps he can't help but cheer inwardly.

 _Told ya, he'd get that hug._


	17. A Hodgepodge of Clouds

**A/N** : So, I went on a walk and saw some pretty clouds and everything felt so soft that I had to write it down. Sadly I don't think I can put up the pictures on here, but if ya wanna, you can check out the story on .com, too. Have a blessed day x

* * *

"Tell me a story."

It's phrased like a demand but when Tony blinks down at the kid shamelessly tucked into his side he sees the faintest of question marks reflected in his deep brown eyes half hidden by dark, long eyelashes.

He can see the blue sky through some strands of his curly hair and a peak of red just above the top of his head and he feels his soul settle at the peaceful image.

"I don't have a story to tell," he gives back, albeit gently, and reaches out to chase away a pollen somersaulting through the mild evening air before it can settle on Peter's face.

The boy scrunches up his nose indignantly at the hand so close to his face and almost goes cross-eyed trying to follow the sudden movement but never leans away. He doesn't even flinch. If possible at all he leans closer, resting his head on Tony's shoulder and angling it so he can look at the sky soaked in the softest of red.

Tony, on the other hand, keeps watching him and when he sees the sun set and the clouds fly past in his eyes he is certain that his boy holds the entire universe in his eyes. His universe at least.

"Everyone has a story to tell," Peter retorts with a smile directed at nothing in particular and yet everything all at once. It's the way he's been ever since Tony has met him – smiling at the world, giving and shining and all Tony can do is hope that the world will smile back. "Just make one up."

It sounds so easy when he says it, so confident and trusting and good.

But Tony is not the guy to make up kid- friendly bed time stories. Every story his mind has come up with so far has always ended in catastrophe. Every worst possible outcome will always come true in his head. His demons will always leak into his stories and he's trying his hardest to keep them away from Peter – to keep the kid as sheltered as he possibly can even when he knows it's futile with what he's already seen.

Still, sometimes Peter's optimism feels like the world has spared him from all the trauma Tony knows he's gone through and he's glad. He's ridiculously glad that the kid can still get up every morning with hope in his eyes and love in his heart. He knows how hard it can be and it goes to show how much stronger Peter Parker is than he could have ever imagined.

With a small sigh he leans down and rests his cheek on top of Peter's head. "I don't have a very good imagination."

"Liar," Peter scoffs and the eye roll is evident in his tone, "Your imagination is unparalleled. It's not like you're leading R&D with someone else's ideas. Or are you?" he asks mockingly shocked.

"It's a different kind of imagination," he argues halfheartedly, watching two shapeless clouds slowly morph together.

"Maybe," Peter hums, "But it's not really. And you have to be able to tell stories once you're a dad, right?"

"I don't think my newborn will care much about whatever it is I have to say. For all she cares I could be talking about the Henderson- Hasselbalch equation."

It's ridiculous but it makes Peter giggle and nestle into him more firmly with the movement so, in his books, he's pretty sure he's done something right. "Please don't do that, Mister Stark. Since when do you talk chemistry anyway?"

"Since a certain _someone_ ," he pokes his side, "Has started preparing his web fluids in my lab and I have to try to keep him from blowing it up."

The joke is meant to distract and deflect but Peter, being Peter, doesn't care much for Tony's unwillingness to pad into new territory and simply ignores the jab. Instead he releases one of his hands from where they're intertwined in his lap and points upwards, the borrowed hoodie sliding down just far enough to free his index finger but his thumb stays covered.

"Tell me what you see."

"A hodgepodge of clouds."

"That –" Peter turns and forces Tony to lean back so he can meet his eyes, "Since when have you _ever_ used the word _hodgepodge_."

"It's just a word, Pete." He wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him back in, missing the way his curls were tickling his nose and his every word reverberating through his side just seconds ago.

"It's really not but it's also not a point." He nestles back into his original position easily and nudges Tony, "Tell me a story about the _hodgepodge_ of clouds."

"Well," he frowns and looks at the assortment of clouds ahead.

They're illuminated bright red and the first thing that comes to mind is a fire – an inferno burning through the sky, flames leaking and stretching, unfurling their clutches to swallow his world whole. There's grey clouds in front of it, like ashes of what used to be scattering around the place. The whole scene makes his blood run cold and his left hand itch. Instead of burying his fingernails into the ball of his hand he smooths out a wrinkle in Peter's – well, _his_ – hoodie.

"They used to be warm air and now they're water. The Rayleigh scattering makes sure it looks creepily red and the wind moves the whole thing."

"For a genius," Peter starts, "You're pretty dumb sometimes."

"Oh, like you're one to talk, Mister ' _I can totally drink while doing a one handed handstand and balance a Lego figure on my feet'_."

"In my defense, Darth Vader made me do it," the kid has the audacity to giggle like the scream of him falling and landing on his Lego isn't still echoing through his nightmares every once in a while. "Anyway, since you're being a disaster _I_ am going to tell _you_ a story about those clouds."

Before Tony can give some smartass retort, Peter has already untucked himself from his embrace and folds his legs crisscross in front of him, rocking back and forth on top of one of the tallest buildings in New York City.

Frankly, Tony hates it but he keeps quiet, instead reciting all the security precautions he has taken and why this specific kid could definitely not fall off this specific skyscraper.

"The clouds at the front are kind of all grey and dull and sad. Those are the people lacking imagination. Old people, cruel people. People stuck in the past." Peter shoots him a pointed look but then goes back to focus on the sky instead, "They're trying to keep everything the way it is, the status quo if you will, trying to hide the bright minds and the hope that's marching on behind them."

"But you see," he smiles softly and plays with the sleeves of the dark blue hoodie, "Where the light is strongest, the grey is already starting to break and it's obvious they won't be able to hold them in much longer."

"They scream love louder than the others can silence them. It's the new generation marching up, demanding its rights and demanding change. It's hope that's spreading like a wildfire in their hearts and eventually it's going to be stronger than the cold faceless mass of grey. It's like a dawn of a new era where everything is light instead of darkness."

"Maybe this is God's way of showing us that our time will be soon and to keep being hopeful. Or maybe," he shrugs almost bashfully," it's just a really beautiful hodgepodge of clouds."

"Or _maybe_ ," Tony weighs the words on his tongue, meeting the kid's eyes and thanking whatever God or universe of fate it was that made them meet, "Maybe you are right and it's hope. I like your story."

"You do?"

"Well, except for the fact that apparently I'm part of the faceless grey mass that is trying to kill the hope. Yes, I did."

Peter laughs, open and young and faithful, "Oh, you're not. You just try to act like it sometimes but I think you're one of the brightest lights and you'll always fight for a better future, Mister Futurist."

Without looking he leans back, trusting Tony to make sure he lands with his head in his lap and he curls into himself on the hard concrete like it is a mattress, cushioned only by the loose sweatshirt, facing the same direction again to keep watching the slowly moving clouds with a small yawn.

Tony joins him, fingers finding a spot just right behind Peter's ear and falling into a familiar pattern of untangling his curls.

"Next story is on you, by the way."

"I'll try my very best."

When he looks up again the grey clouds have parted and scattered and the red has turned into a hopeful yellowy-orange and he promises himself and the kid slowly drifting off to look at the world a little more like Peter does from now on.


	18. Meant To Be

A/N: Uhh, so, I had an entire day to myself and after doing a truckload of nothing and talking to a friend, this wouldn't leave me alone. I'm kind of rusty, this is very superficially proof read and probably not a master piece but it felt like an important thing to get out, cause I think some people might need to hear it :)

Enjoy and thanks for sticking with me. All your reviews mean the world, even though I'm behind on answering again xx 

* * *

"Do you believe in fate?"

Tony looks up from the tablet he's still working on, even though he promised himself an hour ago to wrap up soon, to find Peter leaning against the kitchen counter that is overlooking the grand living room he has holed up in after sending the kid to bed two hours ago.

He looks like he slept already, too.

There are red lines on his left cheek where he always mushes it into his pillow and even from afar Tony can see he's blinking away sleepy sand as if he didn't have the time to wake up properly before coming to find him. There's an urgency to his question in the way he's swaying on the balls of his feet and his hand is tugging on his oversized hoodie, making him seem smaller than he is.

"What do you mean?" he asks, putting down the tablet and tugging in his legs to make more room on the couch, turning towards him and patting the space next to him in a silent invitation that Peter takes without hesitation.

He curls up around one of the plush pillows like he does during movie nights and leans against the backrest of the couch, facing Tony who has to bite down a fond smile at the sight.

There's something about Peter when he's sleepy, something unguarded and childlike he tries to hide when he's awake because he's in that age where kids don't feel like children anymore and he's a superhero on top of that, too, and so he tries to act tough. Right now, though, he's wearing the pink Hello Kitty pajama pants, Tony's old MIT sweatshirt and doesn't care about his hair being all mussed up.

He wants to ruffle that hair, wants to chase away the trouble in his eyes with a hug and kiss to his temple, but refrains. Instead, he watches closely as Peter chews the words over in his mouth before setting them free.

"Do you think some things are meant to be?"

Tony squints at him like he's a puzzle he's trying to solve, an enigma he can't really figure out, which is true in a lot of ways. He's not sure where Peter is going with this but it feels important and it's not like Tony himself hasn't thought about that question a lot.

"I do," he nods.

"You do?" Peter sounds surprised, perking up at his answer, a million questions racing through his eyes before he quietens them and props his head up on his elbow. "Do you think you were meant end up here with… with all the people you ended up being here and, uh, you know?"

"I think," he starts slowly, pausing to think because there's a whole lot to unpack there and he's not quite sure he's the right person to give any kind of advice but that's how he usually feels when Peter asks him something that's not science related and, well, he's always come back so far.

"I think everything happens for a reason," he settles on finally, meeting Peter's eyes and trying to radiate the tenderness he feels deep into his bones. "I think that bad things happen and that we have the power to make something good out of it, anyway, and get somewhere we never would've gotten without them."

He's reaching. He has no clue where Peter wants to go with this, if this is a question prompted by a nightmare and self-doubt and fear or if that's a normal thing teenagers ask but he finds he wants to find out.

Peter seems to mull over his words for a heartbeat and bites his lower lip, a habit he turns to when he's nervous but not really panicky anxious and so Tony tries to relax into the couch some more, grabbing a pillow of his own to hog, so he's mirroring Peter's pose.

"Do you think you were meant to marry Ms. Pepper?"

How, after everything they've been through, he's still stuck on those formal terms, Tony will never understand but they've come to sound like an endearment now and he can't picture his life without his wide eyed kid calling him Mr. Stark with the outmost joy.

Being stuck on the name he didn't fully register the actual question, but now that he does, he frowns. There's something deeper behind those stupidly smart doe eyes but he can't figure it out yet.

"I do. I mean, can you imagine anyone else putting up for me this long and, hopefully, forever?"

That cracks a smile out of the kid and he gives himself a mental high- five when he sees the spark of snark in his eyes.

"And, uh," he looks down now, breaking eye contact for the first time and concentrating on fumbling with his sleeves instead, "You, uh, you never had doubts about, uh, you know, uh, staying with her?"

"Doubts?" he almost scoffs but tries to keep the self-depreciation out of his tone (apparently that's good for your mental health, who knew?) "Kid, you're talking to the King of Doubt. The Lord of Suspicion. The Ruler of –"

"Okay, okay, I get it, you're doubtful," Peter giggles, throwing the pillow at his face and pushing himself up so he's sitting cross-legged on the couch, hands clasped together and arms resting on his knees. Again, Tony goes to mirror his pose but keeps the two pillows in his lap.

"About a lot of things, generally," he agrees easily. "But the real question ought to be, what are you doubtful about at –" his eyes flick to the clock up on the kitchen wall, "two in the morning on a Saturday?"

"You know, just," he shrugs, "stuff, I guess."

Stuff. Sure.

But apparently asking won't get him anywhere this time so he'll just have to wait this out and hope his joints will keep going for however long that is going to take. Waiting, as impatient a man Tony has always been, is a virtue he has been practicing a lot recently.

He doesn't have to wait all that long.

"How did you know Pepper was the one?"

"Same way I knew Rhodey is my best friend. Same way I knew that you're my kid," he points his index at Peter, smiling fondly when he blushes, "I just knew."

"Ugh," he huffs out in that half-way to annoyed way teenagers have perfected when not getting the expected answers right away, "But how? And when did you know? I mean, how did you know you weren't just – I don't know – wasting your time on us?"

"Now, why would I have ever thought I'm wasting my time on you?"

"Because, _because_ ," he sighs heavily, his annoyance at the _world_? bleeding through, "If you were never meant to be then – then what's the _point_?"

Oh. _OH_.

"Is this about that whole high-school romance you've got going on recently?" he asks, ignoring the indignant glare he gets in return and leaning forward to prop his chin on his hands and watching Peter intently.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're having doubts about your three week relationship because you're not sure they're The One you're going to grow old with and you think about breaking up just so you can be sure you're free when The One comes along or just because you think it's unfair to temporarily have a relationship when you're not sure it's gonna last forever." He stops. "Is that about right?"

Peter is still glaring but he also gives a jerky nod and sinks deeper into the couch. "Yes, I mean, it's just so, so _stupid_. How am I supposed to just _know_ who's –"

"You're not," Tony interrupts.

"But you just said –"

"I know what I just said and I stand by it but, _christ_ , you're 16, kid. Do you think I knew who I was going to marry at 16?"

"But people say –"

"Yeah, well, there's the problem with that statement. People say a lot of things and most of it is a load of B.S." Tony tries to be as understanding as possible because he doesn't want to overstep his boundaries and, he knows what that first crush feels like and he knows how big and yet small the world seems at 16 and how expectations, especially your own, can pull you down faster than you can blink.

"Listen, kid," he lets out a long breath in an attempt to sort his thoughts, "I met Rhodey when I was 17, right? We were two nerds at MIT, having fun, being idiots, giving our parents and teachers a head full of grey hair." He smiles at the thought, sees Peter hanging on to his every words with unconditional trust and feels his smile broaden.

"Do you think I knew then that he would be the one to pull me back into reality when my parents died four years later? Or that he would be the one to pick me up in the middle of a desert after being held captive for three months? Hell, when we met I didn't know if we'd be able to keep up our friendship after college let alone that he'd be the best man at my wedding three decades later."

"What I'm trying, and probably failing, to say is that you don't always know from the start what someone else is going to mean to you somewhere along the line. And, despite what every single movie nowadays is trying to tell you, that's okay."

"There's not always fireworks the first time you lay eyes on the person you're going to spend the rest of your days with. When I met Pepper, I was more annoyed at the disturbance than anything else. She piqued my interest, though, and became a friend and then – _years_ later – she became more and while I can safely say for myself that I was hoping we could make it work, I just can't say that the fact that it might not, never crossed my mind. And I'm sure she had her fair share of doubts, too."

"But," Peter leans forward, too, now, so the tip of their noses are just a few inches apart and he can feel his warm breath on his cheeks, "That seems exhausting. Not knowing, I mean."

"Oh, it is. It's daunting and weird to put effort into something you're not sure is gonna last but, then again, if you don't, it definitely ain't." It seems like a pretty bad way to end the conversation and Peter still looks doubtful, so he inhales again and tries to channel whatever is left of the adult in him.

"Look, as long as you feel good in your relationship – no matter if you think it's going to last until the day one of you kicks the bucket – then just go with it. Put your heart into it and see where it takes you and just enjoy whatever happens. And, if it doesn't feel good anymore for whatever reason then you get the heck out of there but it is okay to be in a relationship and to continue having a relationship when you don't know if it's ' _meant to be'_."

It's quiet for a second then, while Peter's eyes search his for _something_ that he seems to find because then he exhales and, in a voice smaller than he has ever heard him, asks: "And that's … really okay?"

"Yeah, kid. It really is."

When he lets out his next breath, it's like years of worry have fallen from his young shoulders and his entire posture loosens when he lets himself fall forward into Tony's lap so his head comes to rest on the pillows.

His eyes have already fallen shut when he mumbles a _thank you_ and Tony can't help the bout of unconditional love racing through his heart like a shooting star lighting up the night sky. He reaches out to comb his fingers through the messy shock of curls and smiles when the kid leans into the touch.

"Mis'er S'ark?"

He hums.

"When'd y' know I'm y'r kid?"

"When I realized what a dumbass you were, Underoos."

"Hey," he blinks up scandalized, a frown sitting between his eyebrows, "Fo' real, though?"

"I think it was in the lab some day," he whispers, rubbing a thumb over Peter's temple absentmindedly, knowing how fast it sends him off to dreamland and already accepting the fact that he would have to carry him upstairs. Again.

"You were talking about an idea that Ned and you came up on your way home and were asking me if it was feasible." He's not sure what the idea was about but he's 90 percent certain it wasn't.

"I just looked at you and I knew."

Peter doesn't reply but he does curl up, digging his nose into Tony's knee and smiles, the picture of content and he realizes, yeah, he's never been surer of anything in his life.

"Love you, Pete."


	19. Call Me Son One More Time

A/N: Eh. I haven't written in ages? And I feel all sorts of rusty and I also just threw this together to get it off my chest and read thorugh it one (1) time. This is what happens when you listen to Hamilton for 4 days straight, I guess. Thought I'd share cause... why not?

* * *

"So you're their last resort, huh?" Peter asks, the dry humor falling from his lips harsh and unfamiliar and wrong, but doesn't make a move to turn around when Steve Rogers enters the room.

He's heard the footsteps all the way down the hallway, alternating with the monotone beeping of the heart monitor to his right in an unnerving staccato.

 _Beep. Step. Beep. Step. Beep. Step. Beep._

Now the steps have halted and instead he feels the man pausing in the doorway, his presence alerting something in Peter's subconscious that he doesn't dwell on. Like everything else he lets it drone past him, staying in the place in his mind that is only made up of dull, monotonous beeps.

Captain America sighs and takes one more step into the room before closing the door behind him "They are worried for you, son."

"I'm not your _son_ ," he bites back bitterly before he can think about it. His heart squeezes when the word leaves his mouth and tears spring to his eyes that he tries desperately to blink away.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

He looks down into his lap where his hands are cradling the remains of the shattered arc reactor tenderly.

There's not much left from the housing unit but the upper part of the frame is still intact and that's where his thumb inevitably comes to rest. He can feel the slight unevenness in the metal and he doesn't have to see past the tears that keep on coming to know why it's there.

There's another sigh to his left and a part of him wants to start laughing hysterically. Is this what Captain America does when faced with a real teenager? He has half the mind to say that he was more eloquent in the PSA videos but when he opens his mouth he's surprised by the sob that comes out instead.

He used to joke about these videos with Mister Stark.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

The presence behind him shifts and his body tenses in anticipation of a touch. When it doesn't come he forces himself to relax again – muscle by muscle until his posture isn't so cramped anymore It's by no means loose but his brain feels less fight-and-flight triggered. He realizes then that his back is hurting from being hunched over for hours on end for the past two days and that his legs are tingling from sitting still.

He remembers the feeling all too way from days spent building the most outlandish Lego sets with Ned, from sitting through ridiculous movies with Aunt May and, as of late, from nights spend in the lab with his mentor – the excitement of creation pushing away everything else until he tries to stand up and almost topples over only to be caught again.

Mister Stark always caught him.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Tony will wake up."

"You don't know that."

No one knows that. They keep telling Peter that, according to all tests they've run, he _should_ wake up – he's supposed to wake up – soon but he knows that they don't _know_. Because if he could wake up – why is he still laying in that awful white hospital bed that Peter knows he hates.

"No, I don't," Steve Rogers amends with yet another sigh and it's weird because Peter doesn't even know what he's wearing but his mind paints him in a brown, loose- knit cardigan and a white, blue, red bowtie, "But I have hope because I know him and I know how much he has to come home to and he's never given up without a fight before, kid."

"Don't call me kid."

He's not sure why he's being so difficult but something about Steve Rogers in his mentor's hospital room unnerves him. Just him, being there and alive and healthy and walking around and speaking about hope. How _dare_ he? How dare he talk about believing that he'll wake up when he doesn't know – can't understand what's on the line for Peter.

Pepper understands. Rhodey and Happy do, too. Morgan misses her dad but she can't grasp the concept of him being gone yet. He almost envies her for that.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Why are you here?" he demands but it's lacking force when he still isn't turning around and instead lets his thumb caress the rough engraving of _Peter was here_ in the top right corner of the triangle. Unconsciously his grip around the metal tightens and he feels the blood supply to his fingers cut off just as his lungs start protesting painfully because somewhere along the lines he must've stopped breathing.

He inhales and unclamps his fingers, watching pink return into his knuckles.

"Your family thought I might be able to –"

"Bullshit," he cuts him off and doesn't even feel bad for it. He only feels like more like crying because Mister Stark is supposed to tell him off. He just wants him to tell him off – He wants –

He's hyperventilating, he realizes distantly, and holds his breath, counting to ten before letting it out. He wants his shoulders to stop shaking and he wants his heart to stop beating so fast and he wants his mind to be quiet. But he knows as long as this room is so eerily quiet, his mind won't ever shut off. He knows. He _knows_.

He almost forgot about the other person in the room until there's another sigh. Seriously? Is that all he's good for? Is that why he's still walking around instead of –

"I wanted to check up on him," he tells him quietly, earnestly and Peter knows he's sad, he knows he's worried about his mentor too, but he's so angry, too, and so bitter and he feels so cold and alone. He whirls around, glaring at the huge blonde man towering a couple of steps away.

"Oh, so now you're feeling bad for abandoning him?" he spits out, right hand tightening around the arc reactor again. The one they worked on together. The one Mister Stark kept all those years. The one he wore when everyone came back. The one he wore when he looked so close to death, Peter could've sworn the reaper has had his hands already on it.

"You're – you're _enhanced_ ," he accuses him and hates the tears stinging his eyes making him look like a child throwing a tantrum. "You could've – you were _supposed_ to help him. It should've been you. It should've been anyone but –" He screws his eyes shut trying to keep from crying but knowing from the tickling in his nose that that's a lost cause.

"You're right. And I'm sorry, kid."

"Don't _call_ me that," he interrupts heatedly.

Captain America doesn't care much about his antics, though, he just keeps going. "I'm sorry about a lot of things. There's so many things I still have to talk to to Tony. There's things I need to ask for forgiveness for, things I need to thank him for and I know we have been… estranged before but I know him well enough that he doesn't regret what he's done. I've seen him work relentlessly towards this. I've heard him talk about you –"

He tries to not squish the reactor in his hands but he is so angry and so helpless and he doesn't know what to do and he just wants Steve Rogers to leave him alone again. He wants him far away from Mister Stark and he wants Mister Stark to wake up and tell him that himself. He wants to be held. He just wants to be held.

"Tony loved you a lot, son, and –"

He has _enough_ of this.

"Call me son one more time and I'll –"

 _Snap._

He crushes the remains of the reactor in his palm, barely feeling the sting of the metal piercing his skin because –

 _Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep_

"'ete?"

He turns around slowly, eyes wide and heart afraid. He's scared to be disappointed but he's heard it and he'd recognize that voice in a sea of billions and – he blinks.

"Mister Stark?" he whispers and steps forward as if he's being pulled by invisible strings.

"Hi kid," the man in question babbles with a lopsided grin, eyes unfocused until they land on Peter and then he frowns when he looks further, then settles back on him. "Y'ok'y?"

"Am I –" he cuts himself off incredulously, "I'm –" a hysteric bout of laughter leaves his lips and hurts in his chest before turning into a sob, "I'm- - _fuck_ – you're _alive_."

The man makes a disgruntled sound at the back of his throat and it's all Peter needs to fall forward and into his chest where Tony awkwardly puts an arm around him, trying to calm him down but it's not working.

Because Mister Stark is awake and Peter broke the arc reactor and Captain America is in the same room and Mister Stark's breath is in his ear and his beard scratches his temple as he moves to press a kiss to his hair and he's being held and Mister Stark is alive and, for the first time in days, Peter feels some of the tenseness leak out of his body and his vision is dizzy but it doesn't matter because Mister Stark is there to catch him.

"Uff, kid, you might, uh, might wanna take it easy on your old man here for a bit."

As if hit by lightning Peter jumps away from the bed, afraid to have hurt his mentor in any way, eyes flitting between the monitor with his vital signs and the man himself.

"Nu- uh, come back, Pete," he reaches out and, as if on second thought, turns his head to the other superhero in the room who hasn't uttered a word yet, "And, Steve, would ya mind getting me some water? A nurse maybe? This headache is _killing_ me. Oh and tell –"

Peter barely hears his reply because Mister Stark is scooting over, motioning for him to join him on the rather narrow bed and he can't really form a coherent thought but he lets himself be guided until his ear is resting on the older man's chest and he can hear is heart beat in unison with the monitor and there's a hand in his hair and Mister Stark is _alive_.

When he speaks, his voice reverberates through Peter's entire body and it's the best feeling ever.

"So you don't like Captain America calling you son, son?"

"You're awful," he mumbles into his chest and tucks himself under his mentor's chin more firmly. "No one even talks like that anymore."

They're quiet for a moment after that but Peter can already hear the commotion coming down the hallway. A small, selfish part wishes they would take longer to get here.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Mister Stark," he whispers just as the door flies open and the whole room starts becoming a flurry of activity. His heart soars when he feels another kiss pressed to the top of his head and being hugged even tighter to his chest.


	20. Merry Christmas Y'all

They're practically falling out on the cobbled streets of Brooklyn when they step out of the Southern style restaurant, all happily glowing eyes and cheeks reddened from the warmth of the inn.

"Why would you even fry pickles to begin with," Peter half-jokingly complains, pulling his hat over his frizzy curls, jacket still open and scarf simply hanging around his neck, ends dangling dangerously close to being stepped on.

"Because," Tony answers, stepping forward to catch the two ends and wrapping them around the indignant teenager's neck properly, "Generally speaking everything is better when fried." He grins when he's done and all that's left to see of Peter are his eyes that he's currently rolling towards the sky. "Now the Pimiento cheese that's something we can talk about –"

Peter is still working on pulling down his tightly wrapped scarf to free his mouth and regain some movement to his neck, when May cuts in, arm looped through Pepper's. "No. Nope, we're not starting that conversation again. The cheese was great."

Pepper doesn't look overly apologetic when she shrugs and meets her fiancé's eyes with a mischievous gleam in hers, "Sorry, honey, but you know she's right."

Tony tries to glare at her but stops once he takes her in fully: light rosé quilted jacket, dark grey knitted scarf and matching hat that highlight the twinkle in her blue eyes. She's leaning against May, posture completely relaxed and content. He's momentarily dazed, left speechless and with his mouth hanging open like a fish until Peter bumps into him pulls him from his thoughts.

He re-renders and blinks stupidly, much to Peter's delight who grins up at him cheekily. "She's a pretty big fish with this one tech conglomerate," he mock-whispers, "I'm not sure you stand a chance."

"Excuse –" They turn the corner to be faced with an avalanche of lights that has Tony step in front of Peter immediately to block him from the worst of it even as he continues, "– me, brat? Who just paid for your bona fide Southern experience?"

"Technically –," Pepper pipes in, laughing alongside May who watches the exchange with a soft smile, and gets interrupted before she can finish.

"Et toi, mon coeur?" Tony's hand comes to rest on his chest dramatically.

"Careful, your blue-blood is showing," Peter rolls his eyes – _again_ – and tugs on his mentor's sleeve effectively pulling the older man with him towards the Christmas market that starts right around the corner, "Come on, I wanna get oliebols before they're closing."

"First of all," Tony starts, pointing his index finger at him, "Dutch is not a pretty language and you still managed to butcher that word. Secondly," he lets his middle finger snap up, "The plural of oliebol is oliebollen and, thirdly –"

"Wait, so he speaks Dutch, too?" May asks Pepper behind them just as Tony finishes with a dramatic sigh.

"Thirdly, we're not going anywhere until you close your jacket, Mister I-can't-thermoregulate-to-save-my-life. _Literally_."

Peter glares, "I'm not even cold yet."

"That's the _point_ , stupid."

"Hey, hey," May stops them by taking a step towards them and positioning herself between the two men, looping her arm throw Peter's, while Pepper comes up next to Tony. "Be nice. Both of you."

The billionaire looks to his left, hoping find support in his fiancée's ever loyal eyes and just finds her silently mouthing ' _overprotective'_ at him. He scoffs and grabs her hand, mumbling under his breath, "Sorry for not wanting to have to drive home a human popsicle."

"I heard that," Peter pipes up from next to May somewhere but before Tony can reply something undoubtedly equally childish Pepper shushes him and leans into him with a little hum, repeating May's words.

"Be nice, honey. You know you love him very much."

He smiles, turning his head to press a kiss to her hat-covered head, "Hm. Sometimes I wonder why."

And the thing is: They know he's lying. And he knows they know. There's nothing he knows with more certainty than why he loves these three dorks and their banter is part of it. He loves how none of them mince their words when talking back to him, loves how kind and dorky Peter is, how sarcastic May can be and literally everything about the woman to his left.

There's a weird sort of lump in his chest when he lets himself think about it, letting the easy chitchat of his family calm his perpetually racing thoughts as they stroll along the street past dozens and dozens of booths selling food and art and Christmas spirit (both kinds).

They're halfway to Peter's favorite Dutch booth – that, according to him, sells the best oliebollen in New York City and, according to Tony, sells the _only_ oliebollen in the entirety of the United States of America – when Peter suddenly stops in the middle of the street, holding up May with him.

"Oh no," he whispers wide-eyed, zipper of his jacket in his hand in the middle of closing it, and looks up to meet Tony's eyes who, together with Pepper, stopped and turned when he noticed something amiss. "It's gone."

"What is –" he wants to ask, then stops when his mind catches up with the scene in front of him, " _Oh._ "

Peter turns to May anxiously, his hand still clasped around the zipper, his heart dropping to his stomach and his eyes burning. "I lost it. It's gone," he repeats and feels like crying which is _ridiculous_ which makes him want to cry even more.

"It's okay, baby, everything's okay," May immediately soothes him, pulling the unmoving teenager into a hug he doesn't return, "We're gonna look for it, okay? It's okay." He lets her soft whispers calm his violently galloping heart and nods his head slowly as he counts her breaths, shame still burning in his cheeks and hopelessness curling in his toes.

"It's a small tin soldier Ben gave him," Tony answers Pepper's unspoken question quietly, "It's always on the zipper of his jacket."

The compassion in her eyes glistens for a moment before it's replaced by a spark of determination and, in true Pepper fashion, she pulls away from her fiancé and drops her gaze to the ground. "Well, then we're just gonna have to find it again, won't we?" She says matter-of-factly and carefully starts looking around.

It's that no-nonsense attitude that has Peter pull away from his aunt, hope slowly blossoming in his heart. "It's really shiny," he declares and drops his head too, slowly turning around and searching the cobbled road for his token.

"Well, that's gonna be fun thing to do with literally a billion people trampling around this tiny street," Tony utters but mimics their actions before he has even finished the sentence.

Together they start retracing their steps but have only taken three steps back towards the restaurant when a familiar voice pipes up next to them. "Boss lost another credit card or something?"

"Harold," May smiles and greets him with a quick hug. Happy smiles and kisses her cheek, watching the group loiter around the street in amusement.

"This is not a joking matter," Tony tells without looking up, "This is far more important. We're looking for a shiny tin soldier about this size." He indicates a size of roundabout 5 cm with his index finger and thumb. "Chop chop, earn your money, Hogan."

"I want it to be known that I'm not on the job," Happy mumbles but doesn't ask any more questions. Instead he joins what is quickly starting to look like a hunt, hand intertwined with May's gloved one.

"Maybe it's –" Pepper stops on the middle of the street, ignoring annoyed pedestrians as she does, and pokes at something with her shoe, then sighs, "No, that's not it."

"It could still be at the restaurant," Tony suggests when he sees the hope flicker and die in his protégé's eyes, "You probably lost it when you took the jacket off and it's just chilling there until you come get it."

Peter smiles at them kindly, the misery still lurking somewhere in his stomach but his heart lighter having his family drop everything to help him search. He even manages a half-hearted quip back.

And it's not like it's the end of the world, or like it's the only thing he has left from his dead uncle or even the most important one to him but he still remembers him solemnly putting it on the zipper of his jacket when he was six years old and was afraid of taking the subway to school.

' _It's okay to be afraid_ ' he told him then, ' _All soldiers are. But you have more bravery in your heart than fear and that, Peter, is the most important part._ '

The quote joins the rank of a lot of others that Uncle Ben used to use to share his wisdom. May made good-natured fun of him for it on more than one occasion but her eyes would always soften when he sat him, skinny, lanky Peter, down to give him a lecture on life.

The tin soldier is a part of that and he always puts it on all his jackets to help him remember to be brave when he thinks he can't. It's his talisman, his lucky charm.

Rhodey joins them not much later, after having made F.R.I.D.A.Y. tell him why the penthouse was so ominously empty.

"You looking for your virginity, Tones?" he laughs, "I think you might've lost it somewhere in 19 –"

"Har-har," Tony looks up just to roll his eyes at his best friend, "You are all goddamn hilarious. Platypus we got a BOLO for a shiny tin soldier. Tighten your shot group and make yourself useful for once."

Rhodey raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, watching in unveiled amusement as everyone else very slowly walks past them without so much as acknowledging his presence with more than a nod. "You've been reading military dot com again? So who's the guy that's gone AWOL?"

Tony high-fives him with a grin, then sobers and points to Peter, shoulders sagging a little when he won't even look up from his search. "The squirt lost his lucky charm and now we're trying to find it. Though I still think it's in the restaurant." He stops walking and squints at the cobblestones in concentration before dropping down into a squat and reaching for the shiny object he found.

"Candy wrapper," he reveals eventually, and gets back up, feeling his own spirit sink as frustration settles.

"You should've seen the guy next to you," Rhodey laughs, never taking his eyes off the ground, "He looked a little confused at first but then gave a nod like it was a completely legit thing for a grown man to drop down in the middle of a busy street to look at candy wrapper."

"It's a hobby, honeybear," Tony shoots back, "Don't judge."

They reach the door of the restaurant then and Peter halts, as if he doesn't really want to look because he's scared to be disappointed if he does. Tony, noticing his inner turmoil steps forward, pats him on the back and then walks past him into the restaurant, heading straight for the table they had been sitting on not twenty minutes ago.

"Ah," he smiles, pleased, and squats down again, "There you are, tiny."

Triumphantly he picks up the tin soldier and its broken chain, grinning up at the new costumers sitting at the table who are gaping at him in disbelief. Which, you know, fair.

He shrugs and winks at them easily, "Sorry, my kid lost his lucky charm." He watches them stare at him for only a second longer, already internally writing the new tabloid headlines after the exchange before turning around and presenting said kid with his find.

When Peter meets his eyes, he thinks he finally gets all the songs and stories about children's eyes lighting up in the most magical way and he can barely get up and find his footing before the teenager is barreling into him in the most enthusiastic hug he has ever gotten in his life.

Tin soldier safely clutched in his hand he lets his arms wrap around his kid and pulls him closer. "Merry Christmas, squirt," he whispers into his ear, "We'll figure out a better chain in the lab tomorrow, whataya say?"

There's a flash of light and instinctually Tony turns Peter away from the source of it before looking up and finding Pepper winking at him with a big smile on her face. He rolls his eyes and pulls the kid with him towards the weird bunch of people they call their family.

Before they can leave the restaurant to _finally_ get those oliebollen, the waitress is calling out to them in a thick southern drawl.

"Merry Christmas y'all!"

* * *

 **A/N:** *dramatically* after a true story...

No, seriously. We were on the christmas market yesterday and my best friend lost a (shiny) earring and we went all the way back to find it and I was joking about how you could make this a fanfiction and people would still read it... so if you're a people and you've read this far...? Congrats & thank u for proving my point.

Also, Merry Christmas 3


End file.
